The Last Adam (29 page)

Relieved, she saw that it was Mr. Kean, the Congregational minister. "Good morning," she answered. "It seems so dark in here after standing in the sun. I didn't see you."

Mr. Kean was not a native of New Winton, and she was under no obligation to tell him about Joe; to let him see, with everyone so worried and unhappy, her own indecent jubilation. He said at once: "How's your husband?" But she could answer adequately: "He seems to be better, thank you."

Down in front Walter Bates had mounted the platform. Seating himself, he got the old mallet he used for a gavel from the drawer in the small table. Hitting with it several times, he called: "Harry! Harry Weems! Will you please close those doors?"

"Land sakes, George! Why don't you tell me when you're going to be away all night?"

"Didn't know I was."

"Well, have you had breakfast?"

"I have."

"Where were you? I didn't hear your car come in."

"Had a little tyre trouble."

"George, what's wrong with you? You act so funny."

"I'm probably going to kill somebody when I find him. Nothing unusual about that, is there?"

"My goodness, I believe you're crazy!"

"If I find the skunk who slashed four tyres on my car last night, it'll be some time before he's able to do it again. Now I think of it, Joel goes around that way sometimes. Well, we'll see."

"George, you're too old a man to go getting in fights. Sakes alive, what kind of a way to talk is that? Where was your car, that anyone could go doing things to tyres?"

"Up in Cardmaker's barnyard."

"Now, George, I've kept silent a long time; and it's not for me to tell a grown man what he ought to know. But I never heard of good coming from wickedness—well, I won't say more; but it seems like it might be a lesson to you. Now, I guess you could drink some hot coffee, couldn't you?"

"Never mind the coffee. They're having some kind of meeting over at Upjohn's and I'd like to look in on it."

"Now, George, I know all about that, and it's no place for you. You'd just go losing your temper and saying things. That little Baxter girl came round here this morning, and said her father wouldn't let her work here anymore. Seems some people think you let all this sickness happen, and that meeting's going to be to blame you. Now, I wouldn't encourage those who feel as mean and full of malice as that by paying any attention to them. I'd just go about my business and let them talk. If you go down and start a fight with them —"

"Huh! You mean to say Jim Baxter's feeling so holy he's refusing money he doesn't even have to work for? ''

"Well, that's what the little girl said. Her name's Mabel, and she's very neat and willing. Not like Susie. I'm sure I'm sorry. Well, you go along now. I've got all the work to do myself this morning and I won't have any time to waste. To-morrow I'll try to find somebody. Where do you think you'll be in case anybody calls?"

"I'll probably be down at the Evarts' place before the morning's over."

"Well, now, someone from Torrington called you up. A Doctor Moses. I told them to ring down there."

"Sure. He's going to be the new doctor around here, I dare say."

"Well, he's a very polite and pleasant man."

"That's right. He'd better be."

Eric Cadbury spoke emphatically, with short, un-dramatic gestures. Informally at ease, he paused sometimes, murmured a question to Matthew Herring—even questioned the answer and got another—while nobody showed impatience.

This audience liked him for not being too glib in a serious matter. What he said seemed all the more reliable when he took the trouble to ask questions, consult papers; without confusion, to stop and correct himself. His short, stocky figure; his clothes, while whole and respectable, not good or new; his expression of absorbed gravity in the task of saying what he meant; kept out any hint of oratory—professional talking for effect to a crowd. Nothing Eric Cadbury said, and no phrase he used to say it, would have sounded absurd if he had been talking only to one man.

Having heard it all before—the investigation of the camp; the latrines; the drainage; Doctor Bull's statements; the laboratory reports—Walter Bates did not really listen to it. That was the way it was. Really, it was kind of a miracle. Of course, it was wonderful that science knew so much, and what it knew certainly ought to be used. Another time, they would know that it wasn't safe to put a camp up there. Yet, in one way, whether they knew it or not hardly mattered now; last summer was the time to know it. Not likely there'd ever again be occasion for such a camp. As Mr. Banning had implied, unless you wanted blood, it seemed sort of futile at this point. Matthew was probably going to have his way, and plenty of people, like Emma, would think that was fine. As far as his wife went, Walter realized that she had her heart in it. Something—but what?—would be better if, squaring matters for Geraldine's being sick, they made life pretty hard for Doc Bull. The Bannings, he saw, hadn't come; and Walter Bates wished that he had been able not to come himself.

Seated in the chair, his elbow on the small table, Walter Bates acted as though he were listening, but he kept his anxious bright eyes busy on individual faces in the two hundred odd visible to him. He had the perceptions of long experience with these same people. Years of presiding meekly over the stubborn deadlocking of the clever and resolute gave him insight and that special knowledge of character gained from disinterestedly watching men quarrelling about what they wanted. Most of them had become perfectly transparent to him.

Looking at Charles Ordway, he could see that Charley was being adroit. Fundamentally a simple person, he had learned in Hartford that safety lay in listening. There had been a time when he was argumentative, imagining that politics required talk. Now he shunned like death the loud exchange of gratuitous opinions. Observation or experience had taught him that no positive statement could ever be so innocent that, somewhere, it would not give offence. Only a few people—and those not important—might resent and remember; but the multitudinous roots of a political career were planted far and wide in popular goodwill. One root nipped was nothing; even a hundred hardly mattered; but if he just kept talking, good easy man, Hartford would suddenly see him no more. In this business here, Charles Ordway probably had nothing to lose by being against Doctor Bull; but since it had not been demonstrated that he would gain anything, it was better to sit in amiable grave vacancy until a secret ballot gave him expression. When the majority had been determined, it would be time enough to announce that he was with it. Walter Bates did not condemn him. Considering his own life, he saw in it nothing very brave or noble, either. After all Charley's motives were not malicious. He didn't want to hurt anybody—not even himself.

There were other faces in this blankness of waiting. Some-of them, like Howard Upjohn's, showed a distinctive earnest naïveté. Honestly attending, Howard thought that if he listened he would learn. He wore his funeral expression, reverent but watchful; yet he was his own man and would vote as it seemed to him that he ought. The truth was that anyone could convince him, with a little talk, that anything was right: but the formality would have to be gone through with, and it was a delicate one. The first person to make a point which Howard would not have thought of himself, a point whose logic and aptness came to him with the dazzle of unexpected or disregarded evidence, would also make a convert. Eric Cadbury hadn't managed it; perhaps, because he did not seem to be trying to, and Howard was still waiting, not missing a word, lest it be the one he wanted. It was apparent that Eric Cadbury was not going to try. He said: "I guess I've said my say, Walter. I hope that covers the facts."

He sat down without ceremony and Walter Bates struck lightly with the mallet.

"Mr. Chairman."

"Mr. Herring."

Matthew Herring had the advantage of being six or seven inches taller than Eric Cadbury. Since mounting the platform would be considered a suspicious affectation, height had its value in demanding attention on the floor. Turning from the chair, Matthew Herring's composed, parchment-coloured face was visible to everyone. He said: "You heard Eric Cadbury's summing up of the facts. The question, as I think you all agree, is whether or not these facts, stated without comment or prejudice, constitute just grounds for requesting the resignation of the Health Officer; and, in event of failing to get that, for demanding that the County Health Officer remove him. I need hardly say that in my opinion, they do."

He paused, deliberately and calmly looking around the hall. "I see that Doctor Bull does not consider this meeting of sufficient importance to warrant attendance. Since he has chosen to absent himself, it is necessary to conclude that there is nothing he cares to say in defence or explanation. Perhaps, however, that is just as well. I cannot conceive of an interpretation of facts like these which would in any way improve his position.

"Now it may be objected that Doctor Bull has not shown any wrong intent, or tried in any way to profit personally or irregularly through his office; and that a difference of opinion may therefore fairly exist on whether or not his negligence is actually criminal. This is a matter for the Grand Jury to determine; and the facts will be brought to their attention.

"What we have to determine is whether or not a man in Doctor Bull's responsible position can possibly be blameless in fact, whatever technicalities protect him in law, when he has admittedly neglected his duties. The disastrous results of this neglect, in illness, distress, and death, make the question not altogether academic. Nor is there anything in Doctor Bull's past behaviour to suggest that this was the single oversight in a long career of faithful attention to the public welfare. On the contrary! What zeal he has shown seems usually to have been by way of annoying individuals with whom he was not on good terms. Aside from such episodes, I think the general experience is that he has never been known to trouble to perform any duties which he found even slightly inconvenient. A similar carelessness and neglect has distinguished his work in connection with the School Committee. I think that examples of it are known to you all.

"Putting it as mildly as possible, I do not think that, Doctor Bull has shown himself to be a careful and conscientious official. I do not think that his personal attitude has ever been one of devotion to his profession, or to the well-being of the people it commits to his charge. Walter, I think we might open the matter to general discussion. I suggest—I move, in fact—that such discussion be limited to two minutes for each speaker, if there are speakers."

"You've heard Mr. Herring's motion. All in favour —Matthew,-" Walter Bates interposed, "could I trouble you to lend me your watch? Mine doesn't seem to be going—contrary minded —" He took the watch, laid it before him, and raised the mallet.

"No!" said Robert Newell loudly. "I move we limit all discussions to one minute!" He lowered his voice very little, saying ostensibly to James Clark beside him, "Be here the rest of the morning listening to these damn windbags."

"I think the ayes already have it, Robert," Walter Bates said. "Your motion wasn't in order, so I won't put it to vote.- All right. Do I hear —"

"My God!" groaned Robert Newell. "Old man Slade in person!" He took out his own watch.

"Mr. Chairman; People of New Winton —" Old man Slade's voice had a quality harsh and querulous. "You'd think he wasn't real," Robert Newell told Mr. Clark. "He ought to be stuffed and put in the library with that skunk Harry Weems gave them."

Mr. Slade clamped his mouth shut, his short grey beard wagging on his gnarled chin. "As I was saying," he resumed viciously, looking at the back of Robert Newell's head, "I think Mr. Herring left out one thing that has a lot of bearing. This town's always been a decent town and stood for decent living and morals. I think George Bull's been a blot on it long enough. He's an immoral, godless —"

"Hey, two minutes up, Walter!" Robert Newell raised his watch.

"I ain't going to stop until I finish," Mr. Slade said. "I ain't had anything like two minutes. Newell's had 'bout minute and a half."

"Please don't interrupt, Robert. You just make it longer."

"Now, those of us who've got sons and daughters growing up into Christian men and women"—a low, sardonic whistle, which might have been Grant Williams, and could have been read to the effect that Mr. Slade didn't know as much about his own daughter's growing up as he might have, rose and fell away, but Mr. Slade decided to ignore it—"well, what sort of an impression do their growing minds get when they see a man in Doc Bull's position doing the things he's well known to do. I ain't afraid to name names. Let him and Miss Cardmaker —"

From the back, Harry Weems called: "Ah, leave your names out of it, Slade. Tell us what you know, not what you think."

"I know, young fellow —" Mr. Slade said, turning about.

"If he don't," called Joel Parry, "I do. Ask Doc Bull where his car was last night. Ask him where his car had been plenty of nights before! I see Belle Rogers over there. Ask her what —"

Walter Bates began banging with the mallet. "Order!" he said. "Order! Sit down, Mr. Parry. You can't have the floor until you're properly recognized." He went on banging against the mounting uproar. "I want to say," he shouted as loud as he could, "that as chairman of this meeting, I think Mr. Herring left out what he did for good reasons. We aren't considering any private affairs of Doctor Bull's. I'm going to treat any more discussion of them as out of order. Mr. Slade, your time is up. Do I hear anyone address the chair?"

"Yes, you hear me, Walter," his wife said, standing up. "I don't believe you have any right to limit discussions just because you don't like them; but never mind that. I've been talking to Mrs. Ordway and Mrs. Vogel, and I think I can say I'm speaking for the mothers of —"

"Oh, God!" Robert Newell groaned. "Don't you interrupt me, Robert Newell! There's plenty that could be said about you, too. You just keep quiet! Those of us who have children sick at home due to Doctor Bull's ignorant incompetence aren't interested in your scoffing. You ought to be ashamed of yourself! New Winton ought to be just as ashamed of having you for a Selectman as having Doctor Bull for a doctor. We're good and tired of the one; you look out we don't get tired of the other—if we're not already, as I am. Now, I think we ought to take a vote, and never mind about all this speech-making. There's no reason to mix everybody up." She sat down. Walter Bates said: "Do I hear any others?" John Ely, rising, said: "Mr. Chairman, I think there's another thing ought to be gone into- —" He had to pause while continued conversation made it impossible to hear him; and he might have sat down, but Mrs. Ely gave him several sharp, confirming nods.