The Fourth of July celebration gets hotter when Emma Louise sees Jimmy watching another woman.

A Hot Fourth

“Say, Jim, you and the missus want to go along to the celebration down in Holt County to-morrow?” Thus one of Jimmy’s neighbors by the name of Purcell greeted him one morning on the way to town.

“Why, yes, Ed, that would be fine,” Jimmy answered. “I’m sure Emma Louise would like it. I hear they’re going to have quite some doings.”

“All right, then. We’ll stop for you about nine o’clock. That O.K.?”

“You bet, Ed, you’ll find us ready, picnic dinner and all.”

Later, going into the store, Jimmy thought, “I had better call Emma Louise and see if she wants me to bring anything extra.” And it happened she did, several things.

Arriving home he found Emma Louise taking a cake out of the oven, picking the feathers off a chicken, and putting some potatoes on to cook for dinner, apparently all at the same time.

“That will be kind of fun to go over there to-morrow, won’t it, Emma Louise?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes, it will,” Emma Louse answered, skipping from table to stove and back again. “I never have seen exhibition bronco busting, and I suppose there will be some?”

“Plenty,” Jimmy said. “Who can that be now?” he asked as the phone shrilled two longs and a short.

“Hello. Yes. Harold? You bet, I’ll be right in.”

Hanging up the receiver, he said, “Harold came in on the seven o’clock. I have to go back and get him. It will not take very long.”

By the time Jimmy returned with his brother Harold, dinner, steaming hot, was on the table. The chicken which Emma Louise had intended for the picnic lunch had been fried to the correct shade of brown and now reposed on a platter.

Emma Louise would have to catch another that afternoon and prepare it for the morrow, but that was all right. She had plenty of young roosters that were eating their heads off, anyway; if the rats had, in broad daylight, carried off her entire first batch of chicks from their pen beside the granary.

Emma Louise and Jimmy were both glad to see Harold, he was still foot-loose and fancy-free, and so much fun. And was he glad to see them?

The Purcells were rather surprised the next morning to find three passengers waiting instead of two, but there was room. Finally all were stowed away in the flivver, Emma Louise, Jimmy, Harold, and the lunch basket; besides Mr. and Mrs. Purcell, their two little girls, Mary and Ellen, and their lunch basket.

From the driveway, they traveled south, up a long hill, past the Enright farm, and up and down a few more hills until they came out on a high bluff overlooking the Niobrara river.

Did you ever stand way up high and look down upon a wide river? How placidly it flows along between its wooded shores. From that distance one does not see the treacherous sand bars, the black, swirling whirlpools, or the sinister back eddies of brackish water hiding the branches of a sunken tree or a jagged rock; any one of which may have at some time or other taken a human life. All appears beautiful and calm.

Rattling down the slope and across the long steel bridge which spanned the river, the car came to a stop before a filling station which happened to be also a general store, a post-office, and a blacksmith shop. The metropolis of Redbird had been reached.

Soon they were driving through fine white sand which drifted in over the tires as they passed through and left only a faint line behind them. This was Holt County.

Sounds of the celebration began to reach their ears as the occupants of the Purcell car approached their destination: the bang, bang, bang of giant fire-crackers, the pop of pistols shot into the air, the blare of automobile horns, shouts and shrieks of laughter.

The spot chosen for this gathering of country folk from far and wide was like an oasis in a desert; the wide tree-shaded lawn of a dignified old homestead which had weathered many a storm, surrounded by miles of flat, treeless fields of sandy loam.

A large crowd had made themselves comfortable in the shade of the trees, so welcome after the hot glare of the sun; and more were coming every minute. Farm men, dressed in their Sunday best, stood about in little groups discussing crops and the Germans; farm women, already weary from the care of small children and work accomplished before leaving home, sat about under the friendly trees and exchanged recipes. Boys wandered here and there shooting fire-crackers at every opportunity to frighten a girl; and the girls hovered over the lemonade stands and pop wagon vainly hoping some nice boys would come along and buy them some.

Jimmy and Harold, of course, had to go on a tour of investigation, taking in everything. They even stopped a few minutes to listen to the cracked-voice orator who began to declaim from a bunting-draped drygoods box, before a more or less disinterested audience.

When they returned to the particular tree under which they had left the women of their party, the contents of the two large baskets had been spread upon a snowy cloth and looked good enough to tempt a king, so thought the two young and very hungry young men.

“Did you see Ed?” Mrs. Purcell asked. At Jimmy’s negative answer, she continued: “Now where do you suppose he went? He was right over there, a minute ago,” indicating the speaker’s stand.

“He can’t be far away,” Jimmy replied. “Come on, Harold, let’s go get him.”

The two brothers started in the direction indicated and were soon lost in the crowd. The women waited, while the sun peeked through the branches of the trees, the dust blew, and the flies buzzed.

At last they came, mopping the sweat from their foreheads, running grimy fingers around wilted collars.

“I’ll tell the world it’s hot,” Jimmy exclaimed, throwing himself full length upon the grass.

“Ed Purcell, where have you been, anyhow?” his wife demanded.

“Why, down at the barn, looking over the horses, of course,” the husband mildly answered. “I was starting up here when the boys found me.”

Meanwhile Ellen and Mary were doing their best to make the lunch disappear, so the others decided they had better have their share before it was all gone.

Refreshed by the wholesome food and cool lemonade from a jug whose burlap wrapping had been thoroughly saturated with water, everyone felt better.

They had not rested long before Ed was on his feet. “Come on, folks, almost time for the show to start.”

Driving out into the large, level pasture where the sports were to take place, they found the crowd already gathering.

After they had settled themselves in a vacant place in the front row of cars, Emma Louise was surprised to find other cars crowding in ahead of them.

“Gosh” said Jimmy, “Pretty soon there won’t be room left for the rodeo.”

Mary and Ellen, nimble as squirrels, stood on the front fenders. The others, busy craning their necks to see what was taking place, did not notice at first that Harold was not craning his neck also. Emma Louise was the first to discover his rapt attention in another direction, and looking to see what was attracting him, looked into the very blue eyes of a very pretty girl.

Nudging Jimmy, Emma Louise whispered, “Harold has found something more attractive that bucking ponies.”

“I’ll tell the world he has,” Jimmy exclaimed. “Right, too. She certainly is a pippin.”

“Really, Jimmy, do you think so?” Brown eyes flashed and a chin tilted upward.

Still looking at the girl in the other car, Jimmy replied, “Why, sure, she certainly is pretty. Eh, Harold?”

Aroused from his silent worship, Harold stammered, red as a beet: “What’s that, Jimmy?”

“Look,” Ed Purcell cried, jumping out of the car and standing on the running board. “There he goes.”

“There who goes?” his wife asked. “I can’t see a thing.”

“The real bucker. A western horse that’s never been ridden. That fellow’s sure sticking. Oh.”

The “Oh” echoed through the crowd as the rider suddenly vaulted through the air and landed in a heap on the dusty ground. The pretty girl screamed. So did a few other people.

“Oh, dear,” said Emma Louise, “That spoils it all.”

“It does sort of take the joy out of it,” Jimmy agreed, his eyes straying toward the pretty girl.

The rest of the afternoon, Emma Louise divided her attention between the rodeo events and watching Jimmy. It seemed to her that Jimmy had his eyes on the girl in the other car quite as often as did Harold. If Harold wanted to spend the afternoon gazing at a pretty girl that was all right, but Jimmy was married. The day was completely ruined for her, and how dusty and hot it was anyway.

The very first mention of returning home was heartily seconded by Emma Louise. During the whole drive, she remained stonily silent. The sweet evening breeze, the setting sun reflected in the river, or the purple shadows gathering in the valleys received no comment from her. She did remember her manners, however, when she and Jimmy and Harold were deposited on their front porch.

Throwing open doors and windows to let in the cool evening air, Jimmy exclaimed, “Those races and things were great, but this has been a dreadfully hot day.”

Emma Louise could contain herself no longer. “Yes, it has been a ‘Hot’ day when your husband spends the whole afternoon admiring a silly girl that screams, even if she is pretty,” she said in a hard little voice. Then she burst into tears and fled from the room.

“Why, Emma Louise,” Jimmy cried. “Did that bother you?”

He started to follow her but stopped abruptly at the closed door. He continued to speak, however, knowing she was listening on the other side.

“I kept looking at that girl because it seemed that I had seen her before, and I was trying to figure out who she was. I remembered at last. She is Marshall Clinton’s sister. We saw her in town the other day when we went after the binder. I do not think she is especially pretty. I like brown eyes much better myself, they have more sparkle.”

“Really, Jimmy?” smiled Emma Louise, opening the door. “After I have washed this dust and dirt off my face, I will call Mrs. Clinton and ask her to bring her sister over to dinner next Sunday so she and Harold can get acquainted. That all right, Harold?”

Blushing again, Harold answered “Sure.”