OCR Text |
Show HATCH AS HATCH CAN By Don Wood TIM BAGSBY shoved his fists deep into hit coat pockets as he forced himself to climb the Col-man Col-man County court house steps. Hat Jammed tight against the March wind, he told a passing sparrow, "If I never iee another chicken It will be too soon." Chickens and women, he glumly opined, made life frustrating. He made a mental note to leave full Instructions for his successor before be-fore offering his resignation to the county supervisor. Six weeks ago he had been a different man. His re-election as county Prosecuting Attorney had seemed assured. That was before his secretary, who was to have soon been Mrs. Jim Bagsby, had attended a farm auction and had purchased a Rhode Island Red hen. Installing the hen Ih the court - house attic as a temporary measure meas-ure had been Ellen's Idea, he remembered. re-membered. The arrival of six fluffy chicks some time later had been the hen's. He had stormed at the ' whole episode. It was downright unconstitutional. Ellen had been , firm. Her ring, now resting in his pocket close to his fist, showed just how firm she had been. "I won't let you move a mother at a time like this," she had said. Some chickens might be discreet under these circumstances, Jim 1 told himself savagely. Not Henrietta. Henri-etta. She had gleefully clucked out .her motherhood to the world. Ellen . had aided and abetted the noise by rearranging a stack of sheet ' metal frames in the attic, to suit the hen's desires. The sheet metal, long an item of concern by the supervisors, was not a thing you willingly brought to their attention. atten-tion. The supervisors had purchased pur-chased the frames for some un-, un-, known use years ago, and had tried .in vain to sell them ever since. , Yesterday had been the final blow. A reporter from the Colman Banner had been in Jim's office, a and the clucking noise upstairs had been at Its usual peak. You couldn't expect a newsman to lgnort the matter, even to save a prosecutor who was up for re-election. He hadn't had the heart to buy a paper today. For that matter, he didn't need to. He could have written writ-ten the headlines himself . . . "County Prosecutor harbors refugee refu-gee hen' In court house attic." He pushed hard on the court house door. It was Jerked open from within. Someone called out, "Here he comes." A flashbulb blinded his eyes. From the crowded crowd-ed corridor he heard a voice say "The board Is proud of you . . . fine work . . . your election is sure." It was a long walk to his office. Ellen sat at her desk, t copy of the Banner spread before her. Over the shoulder of wellwishert he caught the headlines . . . "Prosecutor "Pro-secutor solves sale of surplus sheet metal. Proves frames Ideal for chicken brooder use by unique research." Jim closed the door on his last visitor. His arm was lame from being pumphandled. Ellen sat looking look-ing out the window. He coughed, "Someone must have helped the Banner write that story. You?" Ellen nodded, still not looking his way. His arms slid around her shoulders. shoul-ders. Her fingers squeezed his as he slipped her diamond back In place. "Is our June date back on the agendaT" Ellen turned to let the light catch the glint of the ring. She slipped one dainty ankle over the other. "Might be, on certain conditions." "Name 'em." "Well, it seems to me that one good hen deserves another. I think I'd like to live in the country. Have a place large enough to put one of these brooders the supervisors are placing on sale." Jim grinned. "Know something?" "UM?" "Suddenly I seem to have taken a liking to all chickens, including even Henrietta." |