“Our good luck.”  He held out an objectionably clean hand with its shining finger-nails.  “Good night, Doc, and thank you!”

The doctor awkwardly shook it in his own grimy fist.  “Good night to you, then, Teacher.”

Out in the bar-room, as the doctor took his nightly glass of beer at the counter, he confided to Abe Wackernagel that somehow he did, now, “like to see Teacher use them manners of hisn.  I’m ’most as stuck on ’em as missus is!” he declared.

XXIII

SUNSHINE AND SHADOW

Tillie’s unhappiness, in her certainty that on Saturday night the Board would vote for the eviction of the teacher, was so great that she felt almost indifferent to her own fate, as she and the doctor started on their six-mile ride to East Donegal.  But when he presently confided to her his scheme to foil her father and Absalom, she became almost hysterical with joy.

“You see, Tillie, it’s this here way.  Two of these here directers owes me bills.  Now in drivin’ you over to East Donegal I’m passin’ near to the farms of both of them directers, and I’ll make it suit to stop off and press ’em fur my money.  They’re both of ’em near as close as Jake Getz!  They don’t like it fur me to press ’em to pay right aways.  So after while I’ll say that if they wote ag’in’ Jake and Nathaniel, and each of ’em gets one of the other two directers to wote with him to leave Teacher keep his job, I’ll throw ’em the doctor’s bill off!  Adam Oberholzer he owes me about twelve dollars, and Joseph Kettering he owes me ten.  I guess it ain’t worth twelve dollars to Adam and ten to Joseph to run Teacher off William Penn!”

“And do you suppose that they will be able to influence the other two—­John Coppenhaver and Pete Underwocht?”

“When all them dollars depends on it, I don’t suppose nothin’—­I know.  I’ll put it this here way:  ’If Teacher ain’t chased off, I’ll throw you my doctor’s bill off.  If he is, you’ll pay me up, and pretty damned quick, too!’”

“But, Doc,” faltered Tillie, “won’t it be bribery?”

“Och, Tillie, a body mustn’t feel so conscientious about such little things like them.  That’s bein’ too serious.”

“Did you tell the teacher you were going to do this?” she uneasily asked.

“Well, I guess I ain’t such a blamed fool!  I guess I know that much, that he wouldn’t of saw it the way I see it.  I tole him I was goin’ to bully them directers to keep him in his job—­but he don’t know how I’m doin’ it.”

“I’m glad he doesn’t know,” sighed Tillie.

“Yes, he darsent know till it’s all over oncet.”