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Updated: May 4, 2025
Strong's pent up wrath exploded. "Why didn't YOU tell me, Elverson, that people was a-talkin'," he roared in the frightened man's ear. Elverson sputtered and stammered, but nothing definite came of the sounds; so Strong again turned to Miss Perkins: "What is going on?" he demanded.
Any guests that I may have here are MY guests, and NOT guests of the church. Remember that, please." There was an embarrassing silence. The deacons recalled that the pastor's salary WAS slightly in arrears. Elverson coughed meekly. Strong started. "You keep out of this, Elverson!" he cried. "I'm running this affair and I ain't forgetting my duty nor the parson's."
His knees almost gave way beneath him when Barker came out of the ring, snapping his long, black whip. "Get out of here, you bloke!" roared Barker. And Elverson "got." No one had remembered to tell the groom that Polly was not to ride to-night. So Bingo was brought out as usual, when their "turn" approached.
Willoughby, with a sly look at the deacons. "And me a-waitin' to discuss the new church service," bellowed Strong. "And me a-waiting to give him Mrs. Elverson's message," piped Elverson. "The church bore all this in silence so long as that girl was sick," snapped Miss Perkins. "But now she's perfectly well, and still a-hanging on. No wonder folks are talking." "Who's talking?" thundered Strong.
Deacon Elverson, too, was about to follow, when a grim reminder from Miss Perkins brought him around and he made for the door instead. He started back on opening it, for standing on the threshold was a clown in his grotesque "make-up"; his white clothes were partially concealed by a large, travelling ulster, held together by one button.
He grabbed the unsuspecting little man from the rear. The terrified deacon struck out blindly in all directions, his black arms and legs moving like centipede, but the clown held him firmly by the back and thrust him, head foremost, into the tent. Strong returned almost immediately from his unsuccessful search for the pastor. He looked about the lot for Elverson.
"I don't nebber spec' Massa Douglas till I sees him." Strong grunted uncivilly, and went down the steps. She saw from the window that he met Elverson in front of the church. "Dey sure am a-meanin' trouble," she mumbled. The band had stopped playing; the last of the audience had straggled down the street. She opened the door and stood on the porch; the house seemed to suffocate her.
"Hey, there, Elverson!" he called lustily. There was no response. "Now where's he got to," grumbled Strong. He disappeared quickly around the corner of the dressing tent, resolved to keep a sharp lookout for Douglas. Elverson was thrust from the tent soon after, spitting sawdust and much discomfited by the laughing performers who followed him.
He turned upon the little man at his side! "Do you believe it, Elverson?" Elverson had been so accustomed to Strong monopolising the conversation, that he had become hopelessly lost as the discussion went on, and the sudden appeal to him all but paralysed his power of speech. He was still gurgling and sputtering when Strong interrupted, impatiently.
He called up a down-town number on the telephone and asked to be connected with Judge Elverson. "I may have to ask you to leave the office for a moment," he said to his caller. "Very well. But if that is United States District Attorney Roger Elverson, tell him that it is A. V. R. Jones who wants to know, and remind him of the missing letter opium advertisement."
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