Harkless."
"It was a farmer, name of Bowlder," added Mr. Willetts. "His son Hartley's
drinking again, and there ain't any one but Harkless can do anything with
him. You let him tackle a sick man to nurse, or a tipsy one to handle, and
I tell you," Mr. Willetts went on with enthusiasm, "he is at home. It
beats me,--and lots of people don't think college does a man any good!
Why, the way he cured old Fis----"
"See!" cried Minnie, loudly, pointing out of the window. "Look down
there. Something's happened."
There was a swirl in the crowd below. Men were running around a corner of
the court-house, and the women and children were harking after. They went
so fast, and there were so many of them, that immediately that whole
portion of the yard became a pushing, tugging, pulling, squirming jam of
people.
"It's on the other side," said Lige. "We can see from the hall window.
Come quick, before these other folks fill it up."
They followed him across the building, and looked down on an agitated
swarm of faces. Five men were standing on the entrance steps to the door
below, and the crowd was thickly massed beyond, leaving a little
semicircle clear about the steps. Those behind struggled to get closer,
and leaped in the air to catch a glimpse of what was going on. Harkless
stood alone on the top step, his hand resting on the shoulder of the pale
and contrite and sobered Hartley.
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