TO-DA Y’S SHORT STORY

Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 66, Issue 5603, 9 April 1943, Page 6

TO-DA Y’S SHORT STORY

“HAIL THE HERO”

It was probably the biggest thing that ever happened to Greenville. The customary births, marriages, and deaths were matters of course. But a new face —and a handsome one at that!— turned the town upside down with wild speculation. The man bought the widow Murtree’s house. It was an old house. It had eaves. And a porch. And vines. And a lawn. There was a large poplar tree at the side. The widow had always sat beneath that tree on summer afternoons. Sewing. He came into town mysteriously. He bought the house and moved in within a week. His name was Edgar Adel, and he was quite tall. He had a handsome face and a tinge of grey like a movie actor. He also had a pronounced limp. An that was all they knew about him. Even Jud Lanson, who was hired to keep the house and grounds clean, knew no more. The widow Murtree couldn’t help solve the problem either. All she knew was that the handsome stranger had paid cash for the place. Nothing more. She didn’t even know where he came from. These were exciting days in Greenville! Bolman, the grocer, had his own theories. He spread his bony hands on the counter and winked. “Greenville.” he whispered, “is a good place for a hide-out.’ Mrs Quaw pressed an index finger against the side of her head. “I never, never forget a face,” she mused. “I’ve seen that man’s face before. In a newspaper somewhere. It just won’t come to me now. But I seem to remember a kidnapping—” Oscar Gordon, the postmaster, shrugged. “His name ain’t Adel. That’s a cinch. If it was, he’d git mail, wunt he?” Oscar spat tobacco juice, missing the spittoon by three inches. “It might be Edel,” he continued mysteriously. “There w’as some society man by that name that kilt his wife some years ago. Yep. Might be Edel. But not Adel.” Josie Wilkens, the perennial maiden of the town, compressed her lips and drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Wai. all’s I got to say. is that it’s up to Councilman Billingsly to proteck the fair name of Greenville. We got a stranger in our midst. Nobody don’t know nuthin’ about him. And if he ain’t respectagle, Billingsly has got to proteck us girls. . . ”

When Edgar Adel walked down the street, everybody started. He seldom went outdoors, except to go for groceries. He walked slowly limping all the while. His chin was up, his chest out. But his eyes held a distant look as though he wasn’t aware of what went on around him.

They watched him from across the street, from doorways, from behind curtains. But they hadn’t the remotest idea whether he was rich man, poor man, beggar man, or Winchell. Then Jud Lanson galloped to the post office one day, fairly bursting with news. He wasso out of breath he couldn’t talk. Oscar Gordon pulled out a bottle that was labelled cough medicine, and made Jud take a swig. By this time, half the town had edged into the post office to hear the news.

“By gee!” gasped Jud. “He’s a dad-blamed hero! A war hero!”

Fyes popped as Jud told his story. He had been dusting the furniture in the living-room when it all happened. As the hired man, that was part of Jud’s job.

He had turned around to find Edgar Adel standing near the doorway and polishing a whole array of glittering medals. When Adel saw him looking he clamped the lid on the plush box that contained the medals, and quietly went to his own room. Oscar Gordan, the postmaster, pounded his fist on the desk. “We’re a nice bunch of fatheads,” he admitted candidly. “Here we been suspectin’ this man—this hero who was too modest to talk about what he done for his country. I don’t mind saym I m ashamed of myself.” “Yep,” agreed Mrs Quaw, “it all a® l ® B back to me now. I saw Mr Adel’s picture in the paper with the President of the United States. He was a-givin’ him a medal. It’s all as clear as a lily pond now.”

M e shoulda known,” simpered Josie Wilkens. “He was so handsome. And he had that noble, far-away look in his eyes. We should a known he was a knight in shinin’ armour.” “’Pears to me.” observed Councillor Billingsly,. “that ’t would be in order if we made Mr Adel a honorary

first citizen of Greenville. Lord knows ’taint often we get visited by notables. And when a World War hero who’s loaded down with medals comes here, it’s only decent to make some sort of fuss ’bout it.’ It was done But Mr Edgar Adel only smiled when the World War was mentioned He refused point-blank to attend any ceremonies. They sent him a scroll, naming him honorary first citizen of Greenville—but he never hung it on, the wall. It was his modesty, everyone said, and the town spoke with reverence of Edgar Adel. There were those who tried to cultivate his friendship, but they all met with a stonewall of reticence. Mr Adel kept his own counsel. He lived in Greenville for six years. During that time, his proud manner and his limp became legend. No travelling salesman ever got within the confines of Greenville without hearing of the great Edgar Adel. And, as time went on, he left his home less and less frequently. One day, he asked Bolman, the grocer for credit. Said his funds were running low. Bolman was the happiest man in the world. Not only would he extend credit to the hero—but did Mr Adel need a little cash

The hero said no at first, but he finally borrowed 250 dollars from Bolman “for a short while.” That was a lot of money to the grocer, but he passed it over with pleasure. And for a long while after he boasted to the town that Adel thought enough of him to borrow money. Then, one fine summer morning, Edgar Adel left Greenville as mysteriously as he had arrived. I mean to say, he died. Died in bed. When Jud Lanson walked into his room to awaken him, there was Mr Adel—dead.

Councilman Billingsly had the town bell tolled for half an hour in slow measure. An impressive funeral was voted for the quiet hero. Greenville closed up tight on Wednesday, and everybody attended the services. A flag was draped across the casket, and the man was buried with the greatest respect. Never in the history of Greenville had so many real tears been shed. Oscar Gordon fired five shots in the air as the body was being lowered. It was a touching testimonial, a hero’s reward. Just three days later, Jud Lanson came running out of the 'house with the all-important medals that couldn’t be located for the funeral. And, when he displayed them in Bolman’s groctrj- store, you can believe me when I say that many more tears were shed. For the medals ‘were inscribed to “Edgar Adel, best Pastrycook in Paddington County, for the years 1915 1916, 1917, 1918, and 1919!”