Whack!

The bridge of the fiddle had fallen.  Everybody laughed over Uncle Mack’s discomfiture, as he rubbed the rosin out of his eyes and grunted, half amused, half vexed at the accident.  He held the violin between his knees and proceeded to adjust the bridge.

“You were telling me why that fellow keeps on his hat,” Westerfelt reminded his partner.

“Oh yes!” laughed the girl, “that’s so.  Toot’s never satisfied if he ain’t in a row o’ some sort.  He will always manage to pick a quarrel out of something.  He’s mighty troublesome, especially when he’s drinkin’.  He was pretty full over there that night, an’ kept dancin’ with his hat on.  Mis’ Lumpkin, who give the dance, asked ’im quietly to take it off an’ behave like a gentleman.  That made ‘im mad, an’ he swore he’d die first.  Then some o’ the boys tuk Mis’ Lumpkin’s part, an’ tol’ ’im the hat would come off ur he’d go out.  It ’ud be a treat to see Toot Wambush mad if you could feel sure you wouldn’t get hit.  He clamped his hands together behind ‘im an’ yelled to Uncle Mack to stop fiddlin’; then he ’lowed ef any man thar tried to oust ’im he’d put windows in ’im.  Frank Hansard, Lum Evans, and Andy Treadwell made signs at one another an’ closed in on ’im.  They didn’t fully realize who they had to deal with, though.  I hain’t got much use for Toot, but he’ll fight a circular saw bare-handed.  He backed into a corner over a pile o’ split pine-knots an’ grabbed one that Thad Muntford declared wuz shaped like the jaw-bone o’ Samson’s ass.  It had a long handle an’ weighed about fifteen pounds.  On my word, it seemed to me he slugged Frank and Andy at exactly the same time.  You could ‘a’ heerd the’r skulls pop to the gate.  They both fell kerflop in front of ’im.  That left jest Lum Evans facin’ ’im ’thout a thing in his hands.  He dodged Toot’s pine-knot when he swung it at ‘im an’ then Toot laughed an’ thowed it down and shook his fists at ‘im, an’ tol’ ’im to come on for a fair fisticuff.  Jest then Frank come to an’ started to rise, but Toot sent ‘im back with a kick in the face, an’ helt ’im down with ’is boot on ‘is neck.  Andy backed out of the door, an’ then Toot ordered Uncle Mack to play, an’ tried to get the girls to dance with ’im, but nobody would, so he danced by ‘isse’f, while Doc White an’ Mis’ Lumpkin worked on the wounded men in the next room.  Since then Toot has al’ays wore his hat at dances.  He swore he never would go to one unless he did.”

Westerfelt laughed.  “Who’s the young lady?” he asked.

“Harriet Floyd.  Her mother keeps the hotel.  They ’ain’t been here so mighty long; they’re Tennessee folks.”

“Sweethearts?”

“Don’t know.  He’s ’er very shadder.  I reckon she likes that sort of a man; she’s peculiar, anyway.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know, but she is.”  Jennie shrugged her shoulders.  “She don’t git on with us.  In a crowd o’ girls she never has much to say; it always seemed to me she was afraid somebody would find out some’n’ about ’er.  She never mentions Tennessee.  But she’s a great favorite with all the boys.  They’d be a string o’ ’em round ’er now, but they don’t want to make Toot mad.”