The whistling stopped suddenly. Ralph kept on, however, in the direction where he had last heard the sounds, and presently distinguished two dim forms standing in an open space amid the trees, through which ran the white thread that indicated the lost trail.
"I say," began the lad, "are you fellows going down the mountain? If you are, I'd like to go with you. Fact is, I believe I'm lost."
"Halt, there, young feller!" was the reply, given in sharp, stern tones. "One step further and you'll find half an ounce of lead under your skin, mebbe."
Ralph obeyed, somewhat puzzled and decidedly alarmed. The men—there were two of them—drew something over their faces, then ordered the boy to advance.
He did so, and on drawing near saw that they now wore masks, and had long sacks swung over their shoulders, with a load of some kind in either end. When he saw the masks and the bags Ralph understood at once what their business was.
"Who are you?" demanded one of the men, and the lad could see that he held a pistol in one hand. "No lyin', now!"
"My name is Granger, and I'm from over on Hiawassee River way. Want to get down into the low country. Got lost; stayed in a shack while it rained, and—here I am."
"Be you a son of old Bras Granger?"
"No; grandson."
The two whispered together a moment, then one of them said:
"I reckon you're all right, boy. 'Taint wuth while to ast our names, 'cause d'ye see—we wouldn't tell."
"You'd be fools if you did," returned Ralph, his self confidence now fully restored. "I ain't a wanting to know who you are. I know already what you are."
"How's that?" came sharply back, and an ominous click was heard, which, however, did not seem to alarm Ralph.
"Moonshiners," said the boy briefly. "Haven't I been raised among 'em? I've got kin folks as stills regular, I'm sorry to say."
"Sorry! Ain't it a good trade?"
"Not when it lands you inside of some dirty jail. Besides, I don't like the stuff, anyhow."
"No use to offer you a dram then?"
"Not a bit. But I say, if you'll let me go on with you till we get down where there's some houses, I'll think more of that than if you gave me a barrel of whisky."
"We're on our way back. We're goin' up the mountain. But you foller this trail for about a mile, then take the first right hand turn. Follow that 'twel you come to an old field. T'other side of that you'll find the mud pike as runs to Hendersonville. After that you'll find houses thick enough. But where are you bound for after you get down there?"
"Oh, anywhere most. I'm after work."
Ralph concluded that he had better not be more explicit with strangers.
The moonshiners soon grew quite friendly and seemed a little hurt over Ralph's persistence in declining a drink.
"I'm going out among strangers," he said, "and I've got to keep my head. The best way to do that is to let the stuff entirely alone. Well, so long, men. I'm mighty glad I met up with you."
He struck out down the trail whistling merrily. Now that he was on the right road again, and with a clear night before him, he felt far more cheerful than before.
He found the old field without difficulty, and not far beyond he struck the Hendersonville pike as the moonshiner had intimated.
Here the country was more open. Large fields, interspersed with patches of woodland, were on either hand. Now and then he would pass a cabin, his approach being heralded by the barking of dogs.
Once or twice large buildings came into view. These were the residences of the more wealthy class of planters. Even in the dim starlight, Ralph saw that they were larger than the log dwellings he was accustomed to.
Finally the moon went down. He would have stopped at some house and asked for shelter, but the hour was so late that he shrank from disturbing strangers. The night was not uncomfortably cool and he was getting further on.
Roosters began to crow. A few clouds glided athwart some of the brightest stars and he found difficulty in traveling.
Just beyond some buildings he stumbled over something hard and immovable. As he picked himself up, his hand came in contact with cold steel.
Peering closely he saw two long lines running parallel as far as he could distinguish on either hand. He found that they were of iron or steel and rested on wooden supporters, half buried in the earth.
"Dinged if this ain't queer!" he thought. "Let me see. I wonder if this ain't one of them railroads I've heard folks tell about. They say it'll carry you as far in one hour as a man'll walk all day."
Pondering over this, to him, puzzling celerity of motion, he groped his way along the track to where it broadened out into a switch.
"Reckon this one must run somewhere else," thought Ralph, when he suddenly detected a large dark object ahead. "What's that, I wonder. Guess I'll look into that. Seeing I'm getting into a strange country it won't do to be too careless."
Going slowly forward, he walked completely round the unknown affair, which he ascertained was on wheels that rested on the iron tracks.
"This must be one of their wagons they ride so fast in," said the boy to himself. "Hello! The door is open."
It was an ordinary box car on a siding, the sliding door of which was partially open. As Ralph strove to peer within, he detected the sound of measured breathing.
"Some one is in there," he decided, and drew back cautiously.
The darkness had increased greatly and there seemed to be signs of another rain coming up. No other place of shelter was in the immediate neighborhood that he could discern.
He thrust his head into the car and felt with his hands. Nothing could he see, nor did he feel aught but the flooring of the car. While he debated as to what he should do, the rain began again.
"Gracious!" he exclaimed, "I don't like to go into another man's ranch like this, but blamed if I am going to get wet, with a shelter within two feet of me."
He clambered inside and sat with his back against the wall, intending to get out again after the shower should pass.
But the shower did not pass on. Instead it settled into a steady drizzle. When the rain began to beat inside he drew the door nearly shut.
The measured breathing came from one end of the car. There seemed to be but one occupant besides Ralph.
As the time passed, the lad grew drowsy. Inured though he was to an active life, the walking he had done had fatigued him greatly. Now, as he sat resting, waiting for the rain to cease, a natural drowsiness asserted itself with a potency that would not be denied.
As he nodded he awakened himself several times by a violent jerk of the head, but at last slumber prevailed entirely, and Ralph was sleeping as soundly as the other unknown occupant of the car.
The unusual events of the last two days had kept his fancies at an abnormal stretch. It was natural, therefore, for him to begin dreaming.
It seemed as if he were going back instead of leaving his home. Every one he met looked at him compassionately. Finally he saw Jase Vaughn, and remembered that he owed Jase five dollars. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out—a rattlesnake.
Even this did not waken him, though he thought he was back at the shack by the tar kiln. The ground seemed to be covered with snakes. He ran ever so far, then all at once he was with Jase just as if he had been with him all the time.
"I haven't got no money," he said sorrowfully.
"Never mind," replied Vaughn. "You run home. Poor fellow; I'm sorry for you."
Much perplexed, he kept on until he stood before his grandfather's cabin. He thought his Aunt Dopples was there, with her eyes red with weeping.
"Go in; go in," she urged, pushing him through the doorway. "He's been waiting for you till he's about give out."
Ralph dreamed that the first thing he saw was his grandfather propped up in bed, with a ghastly pallor on his face. When he beheld his truant grandson, the scowl upon his brow deepened, and he shook a warning finger.
"Wretched boy!" hissed the old man, while Ralph cowered like one in the presence of a ghost, "you are no Granger. There never was a Granger that acted the coward. You are a Vaughn—a Vaughn—a Vaughn!"
The old man's tone towards the last rose into such a wild, weird shriek, that Ralph's blood ran cold. He attempted to speak with a tongue so tied by fear that words would not come.
Under the agony of effort he screamed aloud, then suddenly awoke.
"Here! Here! Wake up, I say!"
These words, uttered shrilly in his ear, staggered his senses as he opened his eyes and looked up.
A slender, thin faced, alert looking man was stooping over the boy, and shaking him vigorously. Day had dawned.
"Wake up, young fellow!" continued the stranger, as Ralph gazed at him in a dazed sort of way. "How came you in here?"
"I—I got in out of the rain," said Ralph, staggering to his feet, only to be thrown down again by the jolting of the car, which was in rapid motion.
The sliding door was now open. Ralph glancing out, saw the landscape slipping by at a furious rate of speed.
The sight so astonished him, that he sank back again. To his unaccustomed senses it was as if the earth were turning upside down.
"What's the matter with you? Drunk?"
"No!" almost shouted the boy, suddenly indignant. "I never took a drink in my life. Neither was I ever on such a—a wagon as this before. Lordy! How fast we're going!"
The man roared with laughter.
"Well, you are a curiosity. Where did you come from? Out of the woods?"
"I'm from the mountains. Never was out of them before. Isn't there no danger in going so fast? My! How my head swims when I look out!"
"Not a bit of danger, unless in case of a collision, or when something gives way. But come! Give me an account of yourself. When I find an uninvited stranger aboard my private car, I ought to know something about him, I reckon."
While Ralph gave a brief account of himself and his affairs—omitting the feud, however—his eyes rested first on one strange object, then another.
There was a large pile of canvas at one end of the car, neatly folded. Several tent poles lay along the floor. A large and a small camera, resting on tripods, especially puzzled the boy. There were also several chests and a trunk or two.
At the other end of the car there was a cot bedstead with mattress and bedding, a chair or two, a small table, an oil cooking stove, together with other household paraphernalia.
The whole outfit was simple, yet complete, and did not take up much room.
"Well," said the man, as Ralph concluded his statement, "you seem to be an honest and a plucky lad, though an almighty green one, I guess. Never been anywhere, you say?"
"I've hunted for miles in the mountains, and I've been to a store or two, and to meeting, and to the 'lections. Yes, and I've been to school three months a year ever since I was so high," Ralph indicated the height with his hand. "But grandpa would never let me go off any very great distance from home."
"So you finally took matters into your own hands and gave him leg bail. Well, that ain't bad. But you mustn't go about breaking into people's houses and cars as you did last night. It isn't safe."
"I was lost, and it began to rain. I didn't mean no harm. I can pay my way."
He drew forth some money, under a dim idea that he had heard some one say once, that below the mountains, folks made people pay for about everything they got.
"Keep your cash, my boy," said the man evidently having a better idea of Ralph than at first. "Hold to all you've got. People are not as free with their grub and beds down here as they are up in your country. By the way, what's your name?"
"Ralph Granger. What might be yours?"
"Mine? Oh, my name is Quigg—Lemuel Quigg. I am a traveling photographer."
"What is that?"
"Did I ever see such ignorance! Ralph, you are a curiosity. I take pictures for a living. Usually I go by wagon. But I am bound for the seacoast, so I hired this car to take me right through."
"There was a fellow up in our parts once as took pictures for two bits apiece."
"Like these?" Mr. Quigg threw open one lid of a trunk, disclosing a velvet lined show case filled with photographs of different sizes.
They would now be considered antiquated affairs, but to Ralph the life-like attitudes and looks of the sitters seemed wonderful.
"Gracious, no!" he exclaimed. "That fellow only took little tintypes, as we folks call them. These beat anything I ever saw."
"Well, suppose we get breakfast," said Quigg, turning to his oil stove. "We'll be in Hendersonville in an hour. Can you cook?"
Ralph staggered to the stove, and took a puzzled look.
"I've cooked on a fireplace all my life, more or less. But I don't think much of that thing."
"Don't, eh? Well, well! You'll do for a dime museum, you will. Go and sit down, and watch me."
Ralph took a seat near the door, and divided his time between Mr. Quigg's culinary operations and the swiftly moving panorama outside.
The dizzy, yet smooth, motion of the car, the—to him—miraculous speed, the whirl and shimmer of the landscape—all this fascinated him after his first nervousness wore off.
The artist, however, recalled him from this sort of day dreaming, by saying:
"Ever make biscuit?"
"We eat corn pones mostly at home."
"Well, you can fry some bacon and eggs, I guess."
He gave the boy a small frying pan, showed him where to place it, then lighted his lamp.
"That beats pine knots, don't it?" he asked, while Ralph noted with a new wonder the ease and rapidity with which Mr. Quigg managed everything.
While the meat and eggs were frying, the artist made coffee, thrust some potatoes into the oven beside the biscuit, then completed his morning toilet over a tin basin and a hand mirror.
"Better take a wash and a brush," said he to Ralph. "I'll dish up the breakfast."
So, while Mr. Quigg set the table, the lad washed his face, brushed his hair, and despite his homely looking jeans and rough brogans, presented a very sightly appearance as he sat down opposite the little photographer.
At least so the latter thought, and remained in apparent deep reflection while eating.
Ralph saw the white granulated sugar for the first time, and, mistaking it for salt, was about to sprinkle some on his egg.
"That's a queer way to eat sugar," said Quigg, happening to notice the move.
"Goes pretty good that way, though," returned Ralph, determined to martyr his palate rather than own up to any further ignorance.
He was already beginning to divine the primitive nature of his native manner of life, but the consciousness of this fact only strengthened his desire to familiarize himself with these strange usages.
Quigg laughed, then resumed his reverie.
After the meal was over, Ralph washed the dishes, while the artist made up his bed and otherwise tidied up the car.
Two window sash of unusual size attracted the lad's attention.
"Those are my skylights," said Quigg. "You might polish them up a bit after we leave Hendersonville. That is, if you are going on further."
Ralph had no definite idea as to where he wanted to go, except that he thought of Captain Shard. Regardless of Mrs. Dopples' warning, he now said that he had a notion of going on to Columbia.
"All right," responded Quigg, who liked Ralph's appearance the more he saw of him. "Go on with me. You can help me for your keep until something better offers. I shall stay in Columbia a week, then strike for the coast. What say?"
Ralph assented gladly, and thought himself lucky in being afforded so easy a chance to get forward. Presently he was rubbing away upon the skylights, while Mr. Quigg produced a cornet from somewhere among his belongings, and played sundry doleful airs with indifferent skill, until the train arrived at Hendersonville.
"What do you call that brass horn?" asked Ralph.
"A brass horn! Come! That's good." Quigg laughed loudly. "That is a cornet, and a good one, too! But here we are."
Hendersonville, though but a moderate sized town, seemed to the mountain boy to contain all the world's wonders. Both car doors were thrown wide open, and as they had to remain on a siding until an express went by, Ralph indulged his curiosity fully.
The two and three story buildings, nicely painted and standing so close together, the teams, the stores, the shouting negroes and hurrying whites, were all a startling novelty to him.
"Looks like everybody is a rushin' as if he'd forgot something," he thought. "What a sight of niggers! Good Lord! What's that?"
This last he uttered aloud as the express whizzed by them at a moderate rate of speed.
"That's the train we were waiting for. Now we'll get on, I guess. You see, our train is a freight, and we have to make way for pretty much everything."
Presently their car began to move. As they passed the depot an engine close by blew a whistle, at which the boy started.
The hissing, steaming locomotive was to him the most wonderful thing of all. Truly, the mountain people lived as in another world.
"I am glad I left home," said he to himself. "Grandpa would never have let me know anything. Down here there is a chance to do something and be somebody."
Soon they were again whirling through a semi-level country on their way to the South Carolina line. The corn and cotton fields increased in size, the plantation houses grew larger and began to have stately lawns and groves of woodland about them. The log houses seemed to be mostly inhabited by negroes. Ralph finished his skylights, then assisted Mr. Quigg in getting dinner. The afternoon wore slowly away; then they ate a cold supper, washed down by some warm coffee. The train moved haltingly, having to wait at sidings for other trains that had the right of way. Night came, and Ralph took a blanket and lay down for a nap, having not yet "caught up with his sleep," as he said to the artist.
Mr. Quigg lighted a lamp and sat down over a novel. Ralph slumbered on with his bundle for a pillow.
Once, when he wakened for a moment, he saw as in a dream, the strange inside of the car with the photographer quietly reading; then he dropped off again.
The next thing he was conscious of was being pulled into a sitting position, and hearing a voice in his ear calling:
"Hello there! Wake up! Chickens are crowing for day!"
"All right, grandpa," said Ralph, mechanically sitting up, though his ideas were still mixed with his dreams.
"I am not your respected grandparent," said Mr. Quigg from the stove, where he was lighting the fire, "but I'll dare say he would call you just as early."
The lad laughed at himself as he sprang up and, after washing and brushing, hastened to help Mr. Quigg with his morning tasks.
He happened to glance out and noticed that their car was on a siding and that numerous other tracks contained many coaches and freight cars of different kinds. A small engine was puffing up and down among them, while on every side beyond were tall buildings and vacant lots.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Where you said you wanted to go—Columbia."
"Looks like a dirty place," commented Ralph, having had the raw edge of his curiosity sufficiently dulled at Hendersonville to make him a little critical already.
"Wait till we get out where you can see something. It's a fine town. I made a hundred dollars in a week here once."
This sounded like a fortune to Ralph.
"You see, one of the home artists was sick and the other one on a whiz down at Charleston, and the Legislature was in session. So I just took pictures and raked in the shekels. Here comes my dray. Shove all the dishes into that chest, Ralph. We've lots to do today."
A truck driven by a negro and drawn by two mules, hitched up tandem fashion, now backed up to the open door of the car.
"Hello Sam!" called out, Mr. Quigg. "Got my telegram, did you?"
"Yaas, suh. Marse Thompson, he read um."
"Now, give us a hand, Ralph," continued the artist. "We'll put the tent on first."
The lad, having bestowed the dishes, lent willing aid in loading the dray, while Mr. Quigg superintended operations.
"I guess you will have to go along with Sam," said he to Ralph. "He'll want some help at unloading. Then you must stay there and watch the things until we come with the next load."
So it was that Ralph found himself presently perched high up on the dray and rattling through the streets, while Sam sat in front, guiding his team by a single rein, and a deal of vociferation.
They came finally to a vacant corner lot where they began to unload.
"Do you know of a man here called Captain Shard?" asked the boy, at length remembering the individual he desired to find.
"Reckon I does. Bless grashus! Ain't I a wukin' fer dat same man de bigger heft er de time?"
"What kind of a man is he?"
"Fust rate; fust rate. Dat is if he don't hab nuttin' begainst yo'. When he do, den—look out."
This rather supported the tenor of Mrs. Dopples' cautions, and Ralph paused a moment before he asked:
"Where can I find him?"
"Yo' membah dat big liv'ry stable on de Main Street as we come erlong?"
"Where there were so many wagons and carriages around?"
"Yaas, suh. Dat's him. De cap'n he own um all. Disher team 'longs ter de cap'n too. Dey some says—Hi yo! If he ain' a comin' right now! Oh, cap'n! Say yo' wanter see him, suh?"
Ralph would have declined such a sudden meeting, but before he could think of any excuse, a portly, fine looking man, with flowing chin beard and dark, piercing eyes, stopped as he was sauntering by.
"What is it, Sam?" he demanded, at the same time scanning Ralph casually.
"Dish yer white boy, he astin' where 'bout he kin find yo', suh. I up an' tol' him, when—bless de land!—yere yo' is."
Sam gathered up his reins, cracked his whip, and tore away down the street without another word.
Ralph, from the divided nature of his thoughts, could think of nothing to say until the captain spoke again.
"Well, what is it you want of me—a—what is your name?"
"Ralph Granger," blurted forth the boy, then was sorry he had committed himself.
Captain Shard glanced sharply at Ralph's coarsely clad figure, and noticed the home made texture of his clothes.
"Granger—Granger," he muttered as if to himself. "From the mountains, ain't you?" he added quickly.
Ralph was so unaccustomed to lying that he said "Yes," notwithstanding the prickings occasioned by what Aunt Dopples had said.
"Who sent you to me?"
"A man by the name of Dopples, who married one of my kin folks."
"Tildy Dopples a relative of yours?" The captain appeared surprised.
Ralph, feeling that he was in for it, boldly told who and what he was, omitting any allusion to the feud, however. As he continued, the captain, who had been pondering as he listened, suddenly scowled.
"Was your father's name Ralph, too?" asked he, and when the boy nodded affirmatively, added: "And was his father's name Bras Granger?"
"Yes," replied Ralph. "I lived with him after—after——" he hesitated, conscious of speaking too frankly.
"After a Vaughn killed him!" interposed the captain with emphasis, then added: "Did you know my mother was a Vaughn, boy? And that a brother of hers was killed in a duel by a cousin of your father's?"
"So—I have—heard," faltered Ralph, feeling that he was by no means beyond the reach of that wretched feud yet.
"Finally, did you know that this brother of my mother was the man who shot your father?"
"I—never knew until Aunt Dopples told me. I call her aunt."
"Yet, knowing this, they sent you to me. I like Dopples; would do nearly anything for him I could. His wife was always rather distant. If she is a Granger that accounts for it."
"She told me you might not like me if you knew who I was, but I—I am so sick of that useless old feud, that I thought you might not remember it against me. Down here it seems as if you have too much else to think of to be always wanting to shoot somebody."
"Right you are, my boy." Captain Shard now shook Ralph's hand cordially, though his eye held a rather sinister gleam. "What is the use of forever brooding over old scores? Come round and see me. Perhaps I can put you in the way of earning a living."
The captain patted Ralph on the shoulder, started off, but called back: "If my uncle and your great uncle made fools of themselves by carving each other up, that is no reason you and I should keep up the folly. We are not in the mountains now—thank goodness!"
Though much relieved at Shard's apparently amicable way of taking things, Ralph was not altogether comfortable.
"It was a close pull," he thought. "Suppose he had got mad when he pumped out of me who I was? If Mr. Quigg goes on to the coast, I'll stick by him. I'm going to get away from that old feud, if I have to go to Jericho."
As he arrived at this vague geographical decision, he beheld Sam approaching with a second load. While they were unloading, Mr. Quigg came up on foot. He soon paid the darky off, then took a survey of their surroundings.
"This is not a bad stand for a day or two," said he to Ralph. "We'll put up the tent first; then, while I fix up things inside, you can go about and stick up some posters. I'll put a few ads. in the newspapers and, there you are—see?"
Ralph did not see except dimly, yet he assented readily and began to feel quite an interest in his new occupation already.
The tent was soon stretched and the large skylight adjusted. Some of the idlers who are always present at any outdoor proceedings in town, lent a hand now and then, being rewarded with a few nickels by the artist.
"Now, Ralph," said Mr. Quigg, after the trunks and other movables had been taken inside, "do you know what a poster is?"
Without waiting for a reply, he lifted from a chest a pile of gaily colored placards describing in florid style and with gorgeous illustrations, the unrivaled perfections of Lemuel Quigg as an artist, the cheapness of his prices, &c., &c.
"What do you think of these?" asked Quigg holding up one of the largest. "Won't they take the town?"
"It says you are one of the best artists in the world," said Ralph, scanning the poster gravely. "Are you?"
"Why of course I am!" Here Mr. Quigg stared at Ralph a moment, then smiled and winked knowingly. "You have to say those things, or people will not think anything of you—see?"
"Whether it is so or not?"
"To be sure. You must blow your own horn, my boy, if you want to get on. Humbug 'em right and left, if you look to see the scads come in fast."
"I wouldn't lie just to make a little money," said Ralph so earnestly that the artist broke into a laugh.
"You're in training for an angel, you are. Look out you don't starve though, before your wings sprout. But—let's get to work."
The artist selected a number of posters which he hung over a short stick, to each end of which was attached a leather strap. This he slung around Ralph's shoulder, after the manner of a professional bill sticker.
Then placing in his hand a bucket of paste, which he had prepared that morning in the car, together with a brush, he inquired:
"Think you can find your way round town without getting lost?"
Ralph was not certain, but said he would try.
"If you get lost, just inquire your way to Main and Third Streets. That's here. Now come on, and I will show you how to stick bills. Don't take long to learn this trade."
Ralph followed Mr. Quigg to a vacant wall near by, where he took a large poster, held it flat against the wall with one hand, gave a dexterous swipe or two with the brush, reversed it, then with a few more flourishes drew back and surveyed his work triumphantly.
"Try a small one over yonder," he said to the boy.
Ralph obeyed instructions in an awkward, though passable manner, whereat the artist looked his approval.
"You'll do, I guess. Be careful about the corners. If a corner doubles on you, you're in trouble. I'll fasten up, and run round to the newspapers with a few ads. then finish fixing up. Look sharp; don't get lost, and be back as soon as you can."
Ralph took his way down Main Street, feeling, as he expressed it, a good deal like a duck out of water.
Presently he stopped at a high board fence and stuck a couple of bills without much trouble. Quigg had not instructed him where and where not to place the posters, and he was pasting a large one against the front of a closed warehouse, when some one at a near by corner called out:
"Hey, there! Yo' white boy, there! What are yo' up to?"
Ralph continued his work, thinking some one else was referred to, when he was seized by the shoulder and jerked rudely around.
His mountain blood was aflame in an instant, and seeing only that his assailant was a negro boy but little larger than himself, he let drive with his fist and sent the other staggering against the wall.
"Gret king!" exclaimed the darky, rubbing his ear, which had received the blow, "What yo' do dat for, anyhow?"
"To teach folks to mind their own business," replied Ralph, turning to his half stuck poster again.
"P'lice have you, when yo' stick dat up dar. Disher's private proputty."
"Can't I stick these wherever I want to?" asked Ralph, in surprise.
"Cou'se not. Better tear dat one down."
Ralph hesitated, then deeming that in his ignorance of city life, he had better be prudent, he removed the offending poster, then turned to the negro, who still stood angrily looking on.
"I'm sorry I hit you," said Ralph. "You see, you took hold of me pretty rough and I—ain't used to it exactly."
At this apology the colored lad grinned, then explained in his own terse way that only certain places were set aside for bill sticking. even these were rented out to regular bill posters who paid the city for the privilege of using them.
Ralph listened in astonishment.
"Then I ain't really got a right to stick my bills anywhere, have I?"
The darkey was not certain, but inclined to the belief that such was the case, unless Ralph had arranged matters with those who rented these privileges.
"Well, I'm much obliged for telling me," returned Ralph, picking up his bucket of paste.
"You are a good fellow, and I say again I'm sorry I hit you."
He walked slowly away, hardly knowing what to do. Soon a feeling of indignation took possession of him as he considered the peril to which Quigg had exposed him.
"He's used to towns and he must know it all. However, I'll ask this man in blue. I reckon he must be one of them police that darky spoke about."
The big officer halted as Ralph began to question him concerning the rights of bill stickers generally and his own in particular.
"Have ye any license?" demanded the policeman gruffly. "How many bills have you put up?"
"I don't know what you mean by a license," said Ralph, whose only idea regarding licenses was that they were something "to get married with."
"Ye don't! Who's your boss?"
Ralph explained as best he could Mr. Quigg's occupation and whereabouts, and also intimated that he had posted probably half a dozen bills.
"Come with me, then," said the officer. "We'll look into this."
He took Ralph by the arm and marched him back to the corner of Third and Main Streets, followed by an increasing retinue of street Arabs, both white and black.
When Mr. Quigg saw the officer he shook his fist at Ralph.
"Couldn't you keep yourself out of trouble?" he demanded.
"Why didn't you tell me that the walls were not free?" retorted Ralph. "I was told I had no right to post bills anywhere, and this man says I ought to have a license."
The artist assumed an air of injured innocence.
"Didn't I tell you to go straight to the city hall and procure my license?"
"No; you didn't," said the boy, angered at this barefaced attempt to place him in a false position.
"You told me to go out and paste up these bills, and you didn't say a word about license or anything else."
"That's what I get for picking up a lad I know nothing about," remarked Quigg, turning to the officer, with a shrug and uplifted eyebrows. "He crept into my car night before last when I was asleep, and being sorry for him I gave him some work. And now he gets me into this scrape."
"That's betwixt you and him," replied the officer indifferently. "I'm here to look out for the city. If you are going to take pictures, get out your license at wanst. And you'd better be after seeing Bud McShane the regular bill sticker, about the rint of what space ye want, or he'll be in your hair, the nixt."
With this the policeman walked leisurely away, swinging his club.
Quigg surveyed Ralph with disgust.
"Put down that bucket and brush," said he, "and unsling those posters. You're too precious green for my business, by half."
"Green I may be," returned the boy, disburdening himself at once, "but I am no liar, and I can't say as I want to work for a liar either."
"You impudent rascal!" cried Quigg, thoroughly enraged, "I'll teach you to call names!"
Quigg was small for a man, and Ralph large for a boy of his age. When the former advanced threateningly, the mountain lad stood firm and eyed his employer steadily.
"You can talk as you please, Mr. Quigg; but—keep your hands off."
The little artist stormed and threatened, but came no nearer.
"If you had been sharp," said he "you would have posted those bills in a hurry and dodged the police. I could have taken pictures for a few days, then boarded the train before the authorities got onto the scheme."
"That wouldn't be honest, would it?"
"Honest! Get out of here. What you've eaten is good pay for the little you've done. As it is, I shall have a fine bill to settle with the city on account of your folly."
"You did not care whether I got into trouble or not, so you saved a little by swindling the city. That's about what it amounts to, as far as I can make out."
"Get out, I say. Tramp! Scat with you!"
Mr. Quigg fairly danced with futile anger, while Ralph, seeing the uselessness of further words, walked rapidly off.
The small crowd disappointed in beholding a fight, slowly dispersed. The last Ralph saw of his former "boss," the latter was trying to secure another assistant from the idle boys looking on.
"Well," thought the mountain lad, as he walked aimlessly up one of the principal streets, "I am no worse off than I was before I met that fellow. I'm further on my way, wherever I fetch up at, and I haven't had to spend any money yet."
The sights and sounds of city life so interested him for the next hour or two, that he partially forgot the exigencies of his situation in contemplating the strange scenes by which he was surrounded.
The street cars, the drays, the carriages, and the other intermingling vehicles puzzled his senses and deafened his ears.
"What a racket they keep up," thought he. "It's a wonder they don't run into each other! And the women! I never saw such dressin' before, nor so many pretty girls. Our mountain folks on meeting day ain't nowhere. The houses are so high I don't see how they ever climb to the top. I'd just as soon crawl up old Peaky Top back of our cabin on Hiawassee."
Down at the railroad station he narrowly escaped being run over by a swiftly moving engine. Its shrill whistle and the objurgations of the fireman as it passed, startled him not a little.
For some time he watched the movements of trains and the shifting of cars, and finally found his way into the general waiting room for passengers. A red shirted bootblack accosted him in a bantering tone.
"Hey, country! Have your mud splashers shined? Only a nickel."
"I'll shine your nose with my fist, if you don't let me alone," said Ralph, with so fierce a scowl that the boy edged away.
The mountain lad, though but half comprehending the bootblack's meaning, was aware that he was being made game of. He paused before a full length mirror in the toilet room, and for the first time in his life obtained a good view of his entire person.
"I declare! That looking glass is a sight. I'm a sight, too. I don't wonder folks call me country."
He was sharp enough to realize the difference in appearance, between himself in his home made outfit and the generally smart youth of the city. Yet he could hardly define wherein the contrast consisted.
"I know I ain't no fool," was his reflection, "yet I know I must look like one to these sassy town fellows."
The sight of an Italian fruit and cake stand reminded him that he was hungry, so he invested a nickel in a frugal supply of gingerbread, which he munched as he stood on the curb.
"Take banana. T'ree fo' five centa," urged the black eyed girl, with large ear rings, who had supplied his wants.
Ralph eyed the pendulous fruit dubiously. He had never seen anything like it before.
"Looks some like skinned sweet taters," he said to himself. "Are they good?" he queried aloud.
"Verra goot; go nice wiz shinger braad."
"All right. Give me three," and he parted with another five cents, then bit into the fruit without more ado.
The girl tried in vain to smother her laughter.
"Zat nota ze way. You peel um—so." She accompanied her words by stripping the skin from one. "Now; be ready fo' eat."
Ralph turned away with his relish for new delicacies embittered by another reminder of his worldly deficiencies.
"I never know'd before how ignorant we mountain folks are. Even that foreign girl as can hardly talk at all, laughed at my way of doing." He dropped the bananas into the paper bag holding the gingerbread, and frowned heavily. Then he set his lips firmly together. "I will not let 'em down me this way. I'll learn their ways or die a trying."
After enunciating this resolve, he felt better. Presently he sat down on a door step at the entrance to an alley and ate his lunch with a better appetite.
"These—what was it she called 'em?—these bernanas ain't so bad after all," he said to himself. "Taste a little like apples, seems like."
While he sat there some bells began ringing furiously and a steam fire engine rushed by. The smoke, flame, roar and speed, stirred his blood, while the singular, not to say splendid, appearance of the outfit, with its bright brass work and powerful horses, was at once fascinating and terrible.
Having finished his lunch he followed the crowd that was surging along the street and presently came in sight of the burning building, which was a large cotton warehouse. He soon was in the midst of a pushing, noisy mass of people, with eyes only for the fire, the rolling smoke, and the puffing engines.
Suddenly he felt a touch upon his person, which, though light as thistle down, almost thrilled him with an indefinite sense of alarm. Reaching quickly downward he grasped a wrist that was not his own.