When Jim called to enquire after Susie on the evening of his adventure he found her dressed in a fluffy white costume and sitting demurely upon the porch awaiting him.
Mr. Carleton came out to thank the boy for rescuing his little guest, and after one shrewd glance into the frank and manly face he retired and left the young folks together, satisfied that Susie had made no undesirable acquaintance.
They had plenty to talk about, although this was practically their first meeting. But Susie had faithfully promised her girl friends to bring Jim over to the hotel for the dancing that evening, so she was obliged, although reluctantly, to curtail their pleasant chat and invite him to escort her to the dance.
Jim was tremendously fond of dancing, so he accepted with alacrity. When they arrived at the ball-room of the hotel, where cottagers and guests alike were welcomed by the proprietor, they found Gladys and Mary, Betty and the heiress all eagerly awaiting them. On the floor were many couples of girls joyously dancing together, for boys of any sort were scarce indeed, and their absence could not induce the girls to forego the pleasures of the waltz and two-step. Jim promptly began to participate by dancing with Susie, as politeness required, although she was too short in stature for the big fellow and dancing was not one of her best accomplishments. He did not allow her to guess they were an awkward couple, however, and thanked her as gratefully as if he had not barely escaped being tripped a dozen times.
Next he led out the heiress, who in addition to being pretty and graceful was an especially skillful dancer. My! how Jim did enjoy that two-step. He danced with Betty next, and with the heiress again; then with Gladys and once more with the heiress. Mary's turn came afterward, and he really ought to have asked Susie once more; but by the time he had taken the heiress out for one final whirl the dancing was over and it was too late.
Clara was glowing and triumphant. She had fairly monopolized the most desirable young man in Tamawaca the whole evening, and it thrilled her with delight to notice how Mary and Gladys frowned at her and shrugged their shapely shoulders, and how saucily Betty stuck up her nose when she found she could not look indifferent. But Susie only smiled cordially at her rival and told Clara she danced as prettily as any girl she had ever met.
Then Jim took them all across to Wilder's for an ice-cream soda—the only entertainment by which it was possible to repay the girls for his delightful evening; and if he shivered a bit when he paid the bill no one could ever have suspected it from his manner.
"A few more of these treats," he thought, "will curtail my vacation considerably. I must be careful, or I'll ruin my present opportunity to have a good time."
You may be sure the heiress urged him to call the next day, and equally sure that he accepted the invitation. Instantly he found himself popular with all the girls, for every unattached female at Tamawaca wanted to know the handsome youth. Presently he received so many invitations to go boating and bathing and auto-riding, and for luncheons, picnics, cards and dancing parties, that almost every waking moment of his day was fully occupied.
Throughout this social revelry the heiress clung to her conquest like grim death. However much her girl friends might accuse her of "artful selfishness and selfish artfulness" she was clever enough to charm the young man by her uniform good temper and her frank delight in his society. Jim's heart was not mush, but he was human enough to enjoy a mild flirtation. He did not neglect other girls of his acquaintance entirely, but was most often seen in the society of the heiress; so gradually the others came to acknowledge her priority and expected only a modest share of his attention.
To Susie Jim remained always friendly and considerate, and sometimes during that giddy first week of his vacation he would steal away to the Carleton porch to sit down for a peaceful hour with the little girl whose life he had saved. During these interviews Susie would praise Clara's beauty and accomplishments until Jim looked at her curiously and his face grew troubled. He would admit that the heiress was "good fun," but refrained from more enthusiastic comment.
But there was only a week of this hero-worship. Then the sky fell, and Jim passed out of the lime-light into comparative oblivion.
Katie Glaston came over from Chicago one day, and as she knew Gladys and Mary she was joyfully welcomed to the select circle of "the bunch." And of course one of her first experiences was to run against Jim and Clara on the board walk. They were bound for a boat ride and the girls halted them long enough to graciously introduce the "hero" to Katie.
She acknowledged the introduction with marked coldness.
"Glaston?" said Jim, reminiscently; "any relation to D. B. Glaston?"
"He is my father, sir," said the young lady, and turned her back to speak with Betty.
Jim raised his eyebrows slightly, smiled with quiet amusement, and then walked on beside Clara, who had noticed the snub and was angry and indignant.
"What impudence!" she exclaimed, when they had passed out of earshot. "And from Katie Glaston, too! Why, Jim, her father is nothing more than a manager in a department store."
"I know," said Jim, nodding. "He's my chief. I'm in his department at Marshall Field's."
Clara shivered and stopped short. Then she walked on more slowly, with a red face and eyes staring straight ahead.
"Don't joke, Mr. Ingram," she remonstrated.
"Oh, I'm not joking," rejoined the young fellow, with a light laugh. "Didn't you know? I thought I had told you that I am a mere clerk in a department store."
"I—I'm afraid one of my terrible headaches is coming on," she murmured, with embarrassment. "It is so hot this afternoon. Would you mind taking me home, Mr. Ingram?"
"Perhaps it would be better," he said, quickly. "The sun will be fierce on the water, and a rest may save you from the headache."
They turned at once and retraced their steps. At the corner of Misha-haken Avenue they again passed Katie and her group of friends. The heiress marched stiffly by, but could not forbear one glance toward the group and caught Betty's scornful smile as a consequence. Poor Clara's humiliation was so great that she nearly sobbed outright. A clerk! A mere clerk in Marshall Field's. And she had been devoting herself to the fellow for a whole week!
Jim was not blind, and needed no explanation. Silently he escorted the girl to her cottage, the amused twinkle in his eye growing stronger every moment as he noted her indignation and resentment increasing. At her porch she dismissed him with a mumbled word and ran in to indulge in a good cry as a safety valve to her vexation. And the discarded youth lightly retraced his steps to the hotel, whistling reflectively as he went—which was ample proof that he did not realize how serious was the wicked imposition he had practised.
Of course Katie had informed the other girls most fully of the fact that young Ingram was "a cheap clerk in her father's department," and although Gladys merrily declared it would be an added inducement for her to trade at the store, the other shrewd damsels were quick to see that such an acquaintance was quite undesirable.
"We really have no protection from such adventurers at a summer resort," observed Betty. "I understand now why he picked out 'the heiress.' Her supposed fortune interested him."
"Supposed, Betty?"
"Well, she doesn't display any moving pictures of it."
"We were too eager to get acquainted with a stranger, just because men were scarce," Mary remarked, a little bitterly. "This ought to teach us a lesson, girls."
"Hush! Here he comes."
They fell silent, every pretty back turned to the walk, and Jim swung by without encountering a look or a word.
The young man had not been a clerk for more than a year without having been forced to realize e'er now that his position debarred him from a certain class of social recognition. It must be admitted that he had purposely concealed his occupation while on this vacation, in order to enjoy a bit of feminine society, of which he was as wholesomely fond as every boy ought to be. And, being an optimistic young fellow, he now congratulated himself upon the good times he had managed to secure, instead of regretting the fact that he had finally been "found out."
For two days following his "discovery" he swam and walked and had a fine time in his own company, saving himself from unnecessary snubs by assisting his former girl friends to avoid him. Then, one afternoon as he passed the Carleton cottage, Susie Smith ran out and seized him, urging him so cordially and unaffectedly to come in for afternoon tea that he could not well refuse.
Mr. and Mrs. Carleton greeted their guest with so much genuine kindness that the lonely young fellow felt his welcome to be sincere, so he passed the next two hours very delightfully indeed. Really, he had not enjoyed those last two days. His nature craved a certain amount of social intercourse with nice people, and he could not be entirely happy without it.
But it would be wrong to deceive Susie and the kindly Carletons. When he left, after accepting an invitation to an informal bridge party arranged for that evening, Mr. Carleton walked down to the post-office with him, and Jim promptly relieved himself of his secret on the way.
But the old gentleman cut short his explanation.
"I know, Ingram," he said. "Susie heard the story from some of her girl friends, and it has pleased us to know you are able to enjoy a brief relaxation from your tedious and confining work. But did you not once tell me that you are a Cornell man?"
"Yes, sir."
"Couldn't you find a better opening than a clerkship?"
"Not at first, Mr. Carleton. I wasn't prepared for a profession, you see, and I have discovered that people are suspicious of the ability of boys fresh from college."
"How much longer does your vacation last?"
"Until next Monday. Three days more, sir."
"And then you go back to work?"
"Rested and refreshed, sir."
"Let us sit down a moment." They had come to a bench, and after they were seated Jim suddenly resolved to tell the kindly old gentleman all his story. He respected Mr. Carleton very highly, not because he had achieved enormous financial success but because that success had not destroyed his generous consideration for others less fortunate. So he related his history briefly but fully, and when he had finished the elder man said:
"I think you have been inconsiderate in dealing with your father, my boy. I remember to have met him on several occasions, and he impressed me as being an excellent business man and a genial, good-natured fellow, as well. But think how much unhappiness your defection must have caused him."
For once Jim was crestfallen, and seeing that his words had made an impression upon the young man Mr. Carleton forebore further reproof and rose to resume his walk. He spoke pleasantly of other matters, however, and when they parted at the post-office Jim felt that the old gentleman was still his friend.
He attended the card party that evening and had a good time. Tamawaca society is made up of many little cliques, as indeed is society everywhere, certain people being attracted to one another through congeniality or former association. So it happened that the Carleton clique was one somewhat exclusive and removed from those to which Jim had formerly been introduced, and he met with no humiliating slights. Susie treated him exactly as she had before Katie Glaston's unfortunate arrival, and made him grateful by neither overdoing her cordiality nor referring to his humble condition in life. It was a friendly atmosphere, and put him entirely at his ease.
The three final days of Jim's vacation were as merry and satisfactory as the first week had been, and Susie's charming personality grew upon him steadily, so that he had no reason to regret the companionship of Clara or her particular group of friends.
The heiress, for her part, was amazed that Susie did not promptly cut "the clerk's" acquaintance. "But," she remarked to Mary and Betty, "the poor thing may not be much herself, and is glad to associate with anything masculine. Some folks, you know, dear, have no occasion to be particular."
Jim had intended to leave on Sunday's boat for Chicago, that he might be at work on Monday morning. But Saturday afternoon he received an astonishing telegram from his chief, Mr. D. B. Glaston. It read: "Your services will be no longer required."
It did not take Jarrod long to decide that there were no grounds for Wilder's claim that the streets and parks at Tamawaca were in his control. On the contrary they belonged entirely to the cottage and lot owners, neither Easton nor Wilder having any more legal rights thereto than the most insignificant cottager.
They had usurped rights, however, of the most extraordinary character. In the public parks, originally reserved in the recorded plats, the partners had selected the best building locations and erected cottages upon them, which were rented at good figures. They had also sold many "lots" that were nothing less than public property to innocent or ignorant purchasers, who had in some instances built expensive houses upon them, relying confidently for protection upon the guarantee deeds Easton or Wilder had given them.
This wholesale disregard of people's rights had been going on for years—long before the present owners had bought Tamawaca. From his observations Jarrod concluded that the former owners, of whom there had been several sets or combinations, had all come to a realization that their vandalism had rendered their positions unsafe, for which reason they had presently shifted the burden to the shoulders of their successors, who now were Easton and Wilder. Perhaps these two men, because their predecessors had with impunity occupied public lands, had become more careless or more grasping than any of the others, for their usurpations were on a larger scale. Easton, for example, had impudently placed a cottage directly in a public street, disregarding all rights and protests.
One day, during his rambles, Jarrod came upon a fine cottage perched high on the hill overlooking the bay. On the porch was seated an old gentleman whom the lawyer recognized as Colonel Kerry.
"Come up and sit down," called the colonel, hospitably.
So Jarrod sat down to rest.
"I'm glad to learn you're a new resident," said Kerry. "You have bought Lake View, I understand."
"Yes," acknowledged Jarrod. "There was nothing to rent, so I had to buy a cottage or go elsewhere."
The colonel smiled.
"Plenty of places to rent," he observed.
"Wilder said not."
"He may have said so. See that cottage across the way? It's a very nice place; belongs to Grant of St. Louis; has been for rent all this spring."
"Oh. Wilder said it was rented. I tried to get it, you know."
Again the colonel smiled, and his smile was the sardonic kind that is sometimes exasperating.
"Wilder wanted to sell Lake View," he exclaimed; "but he's been holding the place for seventeen hundred and fifty, which is more than it's worth. Perhaps you whittled the price down to where it belonged."
Jarrod did not reply. He felt rather uncomfortable under the colonel's shrewd glance.
"Tamawaca's a beautiful place," said he, glancing over the wonderful scene spread out before him—a scene with few rivals in America. Framed by the foliage of the near-by trees, Tamawaca Pool lay a hundred feet below him, its silver bosom dotted here and there with sailing craft, launches, or pudgy ferry-boats speeding on their way, while the opposite shore was lined with pretty cottages nestled in shady groves.
"Glad you like it, sir," said the colonel, following his gaze. "I'm fond of the place myself."
"But your public affairs are in a terrible condition, Colonel Kerry."
"I agree with you."
"Why don't the people rise up, and demand their rights?" enquired Jarrod, curiously.
"Simply because they're here for rest and enjoyment, and not to get mixed up in law-suits and contentions."
"But their vested rights are being disregarded."
"To be sure. That is no secret, sir. But our cottage owners are mostly business men who come here each year for two or three months of rest and relaxation, and conditions which they would fight bitterly at home they here tamely submit to, rather than risk involving their vacations in turmoil and trouble. That's human nature, Mr. Jarrod."
"Perhaps so," said Jarrod, doubtfully. To him a fight was recreation, but others might feel differently about it.
"And it's the salvation of Easton and Wilder," continued the colonel. "As long as people can enjoy the sweet, fresh air, the grateful bathing, the fishing and boating and other recreations, they won't bother about their rights. I feel that way myself. No man knows better than I how our people have been despoiled, for I've been here many years and at one time owned an interest in the place myself. But others know the truth as well as I do, and if my neighbors prefer to submit, surely I am not called upon to fight their battles for them."
"Why did you sell out your interest?" asked Jarrod.
The colonel held a scrap of paper in his hands. He carefully twisted it between his fingers into a neat spiral before he replied.
"There are two ways to make money," said he, finally. "I favored one way and my partners the other. So I quit the business."
Jarrod sat silent for a time. Then he asked:
"Does your Cottagers' Association amount to anything?"
"No."
"Then why does it exist?"
"To save Wilder and Easton from the danger of a more serious organization. They encourage it. Once a year the cottagers meet and talk things over, and rail at their oppressors and become very indignant. Then they go home with the idea they've performed their full duty. Those meetings are good fun, Mr. Jarrod. Wilder always attends them and welcomes every cottager as cordially as if he were giving a party. Then he sits in a front seat and laughs heartily at the rabid attacks upon himself and his partner. The next annual meeting is tomorrow night. I advise you to go."
"I intend to," said Jarrod. "By the way, how do Wilder and Easton agree with each other?"
"Not at all. They constantly quarrel over one thing or another. Wilder resents the fact that old man Easton is pocketing two-thirds of the profits, while Easton resents Wilder's habit of laying every unpopular act to his partner, who is therefore bitterly hated while Wilder is considered by many a good fellow. Each would be glad to get rid of the other, if that were possible, but neither wants to be got rid of."
"I see."
"Outside of their business peculiarities," continued the colonel, "both these men possess many good qualities. I don't want to give you a wrong impression of them. Wilder is really kind and accommodating. It is his nature to want to please people and to stand well in popular opinion. Easton honestly believes that he is a Christian gentleman, and he is said to be a good father and husband. But in their dealings with the cottagers these partners have contracted a sort of moral color-blindness; they can't distinguish their own rights from those of others."
"I believe I understand you. Good morning, Colonel."
"Good morning, Mr. Jarrod."
Saturday evening Jarrod attended the meeting. It was held in a big, shedlike structure in the woods called the "Auditorium," where divine services were held on Sundays. All Tamawaca was there, for the men took their wives to enjoy the "fun." It was the only occasion during the whole year when the cottagers got together, and here they were accustomed to frankly air their grievances and then go home and forget them.
On the platform sat a dignified, pleasant faced old gentleman who nodded courteously to each arrival. At the secretary's desk was a little man intently perusing a newspaper.
When all had assembled the chairman arose and rapped gently upon the rostrum.
"The meeting will please come to order," he said, and a sudden hush fell upon the place.
"I believe the first thing in order is for the secretary to read the minutes of the last meeting."
The secretary glanced over his paper.
"I've mislaid 'em somewhere," he said; "but they don't amount to anything, anyhow."
The chairman looked reproachful when the meeting joyously applauded this announcement.
"Ahem!" he said. "Are there any remarks?"
A tall, thin man rose from the benches and cleared his throat. Instantly every eye was upon him. Someone beside Jarrod laughed, and the lawyer turned around to find George B. Still seated there.
"La—dies and gen—tle—men!" began the orator. "We are gathered together this evening to—ah—to meet one another. The—er—reason we are so—ah—so gathered together in one meeting is to—er—consider why we should be—er—should be brought in contact one with another for the public welfare of Tamawaca this gathering!"
As he paused impressively Geo. B. murmured: "Gather up the sands from the s—e—a sho—o—r—e!"
"I take it," continued the speaker, raising his voice aggressively, "that we are met here with a purpose; I may say—er—an object in here gathering together. It is my earnest wish, ladies and gentlemen, that this—er—purpose may be fulfilled!"
He sat down amid a round of applause, mainly bestowed because he sat down. But he held himself erect and didn't lean against the back of the bench for a good five minutes.
"I call for the reports of the committees," announced the chairman.
A man arose and said:
"The committee on water begs to report that it has had the water analyzed by a competent chemist and found the said water perfectly pure."
Here a gentleman with a ruddy face jumped up and asked:
"Is the committee referring to the bathing water?"
"I refer to the drinking water," said the committee.
"Ah," ejaculated the red-faced man, a total lack of interest in his tone.
Little Stakes jumped up.
"I want to know why the electric lights go out every night at ten o'clock," he shouted, excitedly. "I want to know why we pay—"
"Look here—you're out of order!" cried the chairman.
"So are the lights!" yelled Stakes; but he sat down.
"I call for the report of the committee on lights," continued the chairman, in deference to the protest.
There was an intense silence.
"The committee on lights will please report," said the chairman, looking closely at Geo. B. Still.
The little fat man slowly arose.
"Am I the committee on lights?" he enquired.
"You are, sir."
"Are you sure?"
"Perfectly sure, Mr. Still. I remember Mr. Bennett nominated you and there were several seconds."
"Oh. The minutes being lost, I supposed the seconds were lost, too."
"You were mistaken, Mr. Still."
"Well, the committee on lights, Mr. Chairman and ladies and gentlemen, finds that we are such good livers we haven't the gall to make a report." And Mr. Still subsided slowly into his seat.
"Just like a lady's gown," said a wag, jocosely: "en traile."
"I'd like to know," roared a man on the back row of benches, "if the street lights burn till twelve o'clock."
"Can't say," replied Geo. B. "I don't sit up to watch 'em."
"I move the report of the committee on lights and livers be accepted," said the wag.
The chairman gravely put the motion and it carried.
"How about the treasurer's report?" asked some one. "Did the secretary mislay that, too?"
The secretary glared at the speaker. Then he laid aside his newspaper, took an old envelope from his pocket, and read a memorandum evidently penciled upon the back of it.
"Total receipts," said he, "one dollar and eighty-nine cents. Total expenditures, two cents. Total cash balance on hand, one dollar and eighty-seven cents. Respectfully submitted."
"What shall we do with the report?" asked the chairman.
"I want to know where that two cents went to," cried Mr. Calker, the energetic gentleman on the back bench. "I demand an itemized report!"
The secretary and treasurer swore under his breath—or almost under his breath, while the audience laughed.
"The two cents in question," he shouted, angrily, "was expended for one postage stamp issued by the United States of America, on which there was no rebate; and the stamp was thereafter attached to a letter to Mr. Calker asking him to pay up his back dues to this Association—which letter was absolutely disregarded."
"Then that expenditure was a misappropriation of public funds," said Mr. Calker, in a satisfied tone.
"Move the treasurer's apology be accepted," said a voice.
"Move we adjourn," said another voice.
"Wait—wait!" cried the chairman. "We must elect our officers for the coming year."
"Move the same officers be continued," said the last speaker.
"Second the emotion," said the tall man.
It was carried, unanimously but without emotion.
Then Jarrod arose to his feet, to the evident surprise of the assemblage.
"Mr. President and ladies and gentlemen," he began, in his rich, resonant voice.
The president bowed.
"Mr.—er—er"
"Jarrod."
"Mr. Jarrod has the floor."
"I am a newcomer here," said Jarrod, "and have recently bought the cottage known as 'Lake View.' With that property I acquired an equity in all the parks and highways of Tamawaca; but I find that some one has usurped portions of those parks and highways and erected cottages and other buildings upon them. Those buildings must be removed, and the public lands be restored to the public. I move you that your president be instructed to appoint a committee of five cottage owners, who will be authorized to take any necessary legal steps to enforce the removal of all buildings now upon public grounds, and the restoration of all public lands illegally sold and deeded to individuals."
Had a bomb been exploded in their midst the cottagers could not have been more astonished. They gaped at Jarrod in open-mouthed amazement, and were silent as bridge players struggling for the odd.
"Second the emotion," suddenly yelled Geo. B.
The chairman wiped his brow and looked worried. He repeated the motion and asked for remarks. No one responded. Then he put the motion to vote, and the people shouted "Aye!" with an enthusiasm the old Auditorium had never heard before. For dimly they realized that at last a leader had come among them, and proposed to do the thing they should have done themselves years before.
"I appoint on this committee," said the chairman, "Mr. Jarrod; Colonel Kerry; Judge Toodles; Mr. Wright and Mr. Teekey."
"Move we adjourn!" cried a voice.
This time the motion carried, and the meeting adjourned.
Wilder couldn't sleep that night.
"Something queer happened at the meeting," he told Nora. "I can't understand exactly what it means, just yet; but I'll find out before I need another shave."
So on Sunday afternoon he walked up to Lake View and interviewed Mr. Jarrod as follows:
"Tell me, dear boy, what's the joke? It was awfully funny, and I laughed as much as anybody. But what's your idea? Just to guy the people?"
"My idea," said Jarrod, calmly, "is to sue you and Easton in the courts and make you vacate wherever you've taken possession of public property."
"What! Sue me!"
"Exactly; you and Easton."
Wilder's merry face grew thoughtful.
"Do you mean it?" he asked, a bit uneasily.
"Certainly."
Wilder thought again. Then he laughed.
"Why, it would ruin old Easton," he remarked, cheerfully; "ruin him entirely. But he deserves it. I'd like to see his face when he has to give up! It's what he's always been afraid of—that people would some day wake up and make it hot for him."
"How about yourself?" asked Jarrod.
"Oh, it would ruin me, too, if you carried out the plan," admitted Wilder. "But you won't carry it out."
"Why not?"
"Because you can do better."
"In what way?"
"See here, Mr. Jarrod," drawing his chair closer; "I take it we're friends, and can talk this over confidentially. What Tamawaca needs ain't to get back the few lots we've built on, but to improve what there is left. We need new walks and driveways and a lot of public improvements. We need to clear up the rubbish and make things look decent. We need a new hotel, and a lot of other things to please the people and make 'em happier and more comfortable."
"That's true," said Jarrod. "But why, as one of the owners of Tamawaca, haven't you attended to these things?"
"Me? How could I? I've only got a third interest, and the man don't live that can wring a nickel out of Easton for public improvements. I've quarrelled with him and fought with him for years to try to get something done; but he just won't. Says he hasn't got the money; and perhaps that's true, for we lose money here every year."
"Oh, you do, eh?"
"Of course. Everything the company owns is run at a loss—electric light plant, water works, ferries, hotel, boat liveries—everything! By hard work Nora and I manage to make a bare living from our little mercantile enterprises and the cottages we own and rent—just a bare living. But the company property is a dead one. If things were kept up better we might sell some more lots, and get more people here, and so make a little money; but Easton don't see it that way."
"How does he see it?"
"Why, he just wants to putter 'round and lose money. I've tried to buy him up, so as to make something of the place myself; but he won't sell. That is, he wouldn't sell before this. But I imagine he would now."
"Because if we sue him he will lose it all?"
"You've hit the nail on the head! Listen, dear boy: you take your committee to Easton tomorrow and threaten to sue him if he won't sell out for—say, er—thirty thousand dollars. That's all the property's worth. He'll sell, or my name ain't Wilder. Get an option to purchase within thirty days."
"And then?"
Wilder turned half around and gave a solemn wink.
"Then if the cottagers can't raise the money, I'll raise it for 'em!"
"Good!" exclaimed Jarrod. "I think they'll raise it."
"And I think they won't," returned Wilder, smiling sweetly. "They're a bunch of oysters. Whenever I try to raise a few hundreds by subscription to build a new walk, they throw me down."
"Because it is your property," suggested Jarrod. "You and Easton owe a duty to the cottagers to keep the walks in repair at your own expense."
"Well, it'll all be different if we can get the old man to sell out."
"Will you assist us?" asked the lawyer.
"Sure thing. I'll agree to take ten thousand for my third, although it cost me a good deal more years ago. That'll leave twenty thousand for Easton's share, and it's all he deserves. But never mind the details. You just get that option for thirty thousand, and the game's won."
"I'll try," promised Jarrod.
Nora saw that her better half wore a broad smile when he returned to her.
"What's the result, presh?" she asked—the endearing term being a contraction of "precious."
"The result hasn't happened yet," he answered, evasively; "but when it does my dream will come true, little wife, and I'll own Tamawaca."
"That's nice," she replied. Then, as he turned toward the door: "Are you going out again?"
"Why, I promised Nancy Todd that I'd stay with her father while she went to Kochton on an errand," he said, resuming his usual cheery manner. "Old Todd's all crippled up with rheumatism and helpless as an infant in arms. Nancy hasn't any one to leave him with, so I told her I'd look after the old man myself."
"I'm glad you did, presh," said the little woman, earnestly. "It'll do Nancy a world of good to get away from him for a time. She's all used up with the nursing and worry. And while you're over at Todd's I'll drop in and see poor Mrs. Jones, who is sick in bed and needs cheering up. We'll both be back by supper-time, I guess."
That was the way with the Wilders. Sharks in business and the tenderest and sweetest of all humanity when anyone needed a helping hand.
I once heard an irascible old cottager exclaim: "Damn the Wilders' scheming heads!" And then, after a pause: "But God bless their kindly hearts!" It was the epitome of their characters, expressed in a nutshell. How we all swore at them—yet how we loved them!
Jarrod got his Committee of Five together and looked them over. As might be expected they were a queerly assorted lot and promised to be difficult to manage.
The promise was fulfilled during the several meetings of the committee that were quietly held on back porches. Colonel Kerry was the one tower of strength; but a man used to managing thousands of miners and keeping them in order was not likely to be easily managed himself. Kerry was odd as Dick's hat band and had little to say at the meetings. He read Jarrod's purpose clearly, and endorsed it; but the old fellow couldn't stand the arguments and wandering suggestions of his fellow members on the committee. While he listened he tore a fragment from an old letter or newspaper and rolled it with infinite care and skill into the inevitable spiral, shaping the thing between his fingers as carefully as if it were something precious. But if anything occurred to annoy him he promptly destroyed the spiral, put on his hat, and walked home without a word. Then Jarrod had to go after him and urge and explain until Kerry consented to come back to the meeting.
The members of the committee were all prominent men. If Kerry could have cursed them freely everything would have been harmonious—as far as he was concerned. As he couldn't swear his only recourse was to quit and go home.
The author fellow, Mr. Wright, was another hard proposition. He was stubborn, loud-mouthed and pig-headed, and wanted to carry everything with a high hand, the way they do in novels. He had about as much diplomacy as a cannon-ball, and his fellow members had to sit on him twice a minute to keep him from spoiling everything. Judge Toodles knew a heap of law but was sure to get tangled in its intricacies, and when he tried to unravel himself was nearly as lucid and logical as a straw in a cocktail. Teekey was an unknown quantity. He owned a fine cottage built on public property, and although he had originally been an "innocent purchaser" his doubtful title so worried him that he was accustomed to obtain from Wilder and Easton a new deed about once a year, and each deed he filed gave him a little more public land. He was reputed a wealthy and eminently respectable gentleman, and the chances of his fighting on the side of the cottagers and jeopardizing his own property to assert the principles of right and justice were considered good—but not gilt-edged.
With this ill-assorted material Jarrod labored until he molded it into shape. For it must be admitted that in the end the members of the committee stood shoulder to shoulder and did their full duty by the cottagers who had appointed them. By these five Tamawaca was redeemed and its incubi unseated.
Meantime Jarrod had reluctantly indulged in several interviews with old Easton. This man was a most peculiar character. He loved to sing hymns and made an excellent exhortation at any religious gathering. Indeed, one milk-fed preacher who lived on the hill was openly jealous of his evangelistic abilities. But the miserly instinct was predominant in Easton's nature and, as Wilder expressed it, he could "squeeze a cent till it hollered." It was this characteristic that subverted all the good in his nature and made him universally detested. Wilder, his partner, pursued his system of graft with the grace and cheeriness of a modern Dick Turpin. Wilder was open-handed and charitable, generous on occasion, always hospitable, and more crafty than roguish. Easton was deliberate and calculating in his extortions and, like the ostrich who hides his head in the sand to escape observation, fondly imagined that no one suspected his persistent brigandage. He derived a fat income from the necessities of the cottagers but pleaded poverty as an excuse for not doing his duty by them. His methods were sly and stealthy and he looked grieved and hurt if any exasperated cottager frankly called him a damned scoundrel.
Jarrod forced himself to cultivate Easton's society in order to study the man, for the elder partner's mild blue eyes and innocent expression puzzled him at first. Easton, for his part, considered Jarrod an impertinent meddler, but resolved to use him as an instrument to carry out a pet scheme he had for dispossessing Wilder.
"With Wilder's interest out of the way," he would observe, "everything would be well at lovely Tamawaca. If I were the sole proprietor here the cottagers would soon find out how dearly I love them. Wilder obstructs all my generous plans to improve conditions, and I'd like to buy him out."
"Why don't you?" enquired Jarrod.
"He won't sell to me," was the reply. "But perhaps we can fool him."
"How?"
"I'll explain—in confidence. You buy out his interest. Tell him you'll make it very uncomfortable for him if he refuses to sell. See? I'll furnish the money, and afterward you can turn the whole thing over to me."
"Would that be fair and honorable?" asked Jarrod, gravely.
"Would I propose it, otherwise?" returned Easton, as if surprised at the question. "Mr. Jarrod, my feet are in the straight and narrow way, and I will not diverge from the path of rectitude. But if in that path appears a snake, I am surely justified in scotching it. You buy out Wilder, as I said, and then I'll buy you out. Nothing dishonest in that—eh?"
"I'll think it over," said the lawyer. "I may decide to buy you both out."
"Of course. As a blind. But only as a blind, you understand."
"I don't understand everything just now, Mr. Easton. I must give the matter some careful thought."
During several similar conversations, however, Jarrod came to know his man intimately, and as his knowledge grew his respect for the "Father of Tamawaca" decreased. Neither Easton nor Wilder believed the cottagers would ever assert their rights, and therefore each was scheming desperately to oust his partner and get the control in his own hands.
Finally Jarrod decided the time had arrived to act. He got together his committee of five, explained to them his plans, and received the assurance of their loyal support. Then, a meeting being arranged, they called in a body upon Easton at his office and frankly stated that the partners must sell out to the cottagers all their interests at Tamawaca or prepare to stand a law suit for the recovery of the public lands illegally sold and occupied by them.
Perhaps Easton imagined that Jarrod had taken his cue and was acting upon it. He tried to restrain a smile of triumph in order to listen gravely to the proposition.
Wilder sat in a corner and hugged himself gleefully. The old man was "up against it" at last, and Wilder was responsible for forcing him to "face the music"—at least that was Wilder's belief.
Jarrod, in behalf of the cottagers, began the interview by calmly stating their case. They had been robbed of certain public lands that belong to them in legal equity, and the partners had not only sold these lands to themselves, individually, and built cottages and public buildings upon them, but had conveyed many of these lands to others, giving them warranty deeds in lieu of clear titles. If the matter was brought to the attention of the courts Easton and Wilder would be obliged to make these warrants good; in which case, so extensive had been the fraudulent sales, such an order from the court would involve the partners in financial ruin.
However, it was not the desire of the cottagers to ruin their oppressors. They much preferred to buy out their holdings at Tamawaca, and be rid of them forever. Therefore they offered thirty thousand dollars for the property, assuming in addition to the purchase price some six or eight thousands of standing indebtedness.
Jarrod might be carrying out "the blind," but something in his manner as he made this clear and uncontrovertible statement disturbed Easton's equanimity and rendered him suspicious that the lawyer had not properly swallowed the bait that had been dangled before him. But in this juncture he could think of no way to escape. Whichever way he looked he encountered the cold eyes of the determined and resentful committee of five, and to delay his answer until he could sound Jarrod was impossible. Moreover, Wilder, who acted his part admirably, seemed to Easton to have tumbled blindly into his trap. The junior partner declared that he was willing to dispose of his one-third interest for ten thousand dollars, and the fear that he might retract this offer led Easton to close with the proposition made him by the cottagers. At the worst he could wiggle out of it in some way, he believed; so the one thing to do was to nail Wilder on the spot.
The final result of this serio-comic interview was that Wilder and Easton both signed an option in favor of Jarrod as trustee for the cottagers, agreeing to sell the entire real and personal property in which they were jointly interested for thirty thousand dollars, at any time within thirty days following that date.
When the option was signed and in his pocket Jarrod felt that his purpose was accomplished. His committee had redeemed this beautiful summer resort from all speculative evils, ensuring its future control to the cottagers themselves, whose best interests would now be conserved.
It was indeed a great triumph, and the Committee of Five solemnly shook hands with one another and went home to tell their wives and neighbors of their success.
Wilder, in the seclusion of his own home, danced a jig of jubilation.
"They've got the option," he said to Nora, "but they've got no money. I'll furnish the money to take up the option—and the deed is done!"
"Will they give you the option?" asked Nora.
"Why not? Somebody's got to make the bluff good, and I'm the only one that can afford to. What do these folks want of a summer resort? They couldn't run it properly for five minutes. And Easton's the man they hate, because he's always stood in the way of public improvements. Wilder's their friend—eh?—and they'll all be glad when he's the whole thing."
Easton was a bit less sanguine. "The situation," he told his better half, "is not as clear as I wish it was. But I've never yet failed to get my way with the cottagers, and a little diplomacy ought to enable me to win this time. My only fear is that Jarrod may not be honest."
Jim opened the fatal telegram in the post-office, and his face must have been a study; for Jarrod, who was observing it from a distance, became interested and at once approached his young friend.
"No bad news, I hope, Jim?"
The boy laughed and held out the telegram.
"Just a kick in the dark, Mr. Jarrod, and it only hurts because it was so unexpected. I've been a model clerk, you know, and now that I've just spent my surplus capital on a vacation, I'm granted another and longer one, without pay. Well," with an involuntary sigh, "there are other clerkships, of course, and I'll probably get one. But you've no idea, sir, how much labor it takes to find a job at twelve a week—especially in the summer season."
"Jim," said Jarrod, thoughtfully, "this is a bit of good luck, if judged from my own selfish viewpoint. I need some one very badly, to help me clear up a lot of accumulated work. Would you mind being my clerk for a few weeks?"
Jim's face was beaming.
"Do you really mean it, Mr. Jarrod? Can I be of use to you?"
"Indeed you can, my boy. You'll have to stay at Tamawaca, but as a worker instead of a drone. Can you run a typewriter?"
"Yes; I used one at college for a couple of years, and got to be fairly expert. But I know nothing of short-hand."
"That isn't necessary. I shall require your services every forenoon, but you may have the afternoons to yourself. I'll give you twenty dollars a week and pay your board at the hotel."
"Isn't that too much, Mr. Jarrod?"
"Not for the work you must do. Any intelligent man would cost me that much, and I will need you but a couple of months—until I go home."
"Very good, sir. I'll do my best to please you."
"Then you're my secretary. Come around to my cottage at nine o'clock Monday morning."
"Thank you, Mr. Jarrod."
That evening Jim told Susie he would not have to bid her good-bye, as they had expected, for he had been discharged as a dry-goods clerk and employed as a private secretary, which was a distinct advance in his fortunes.
Susie listened gravely, but was evidently much pleased.
"The girls told me yesterday," she said, "that Katie had written her father and asked him to discharge you, because you had been impudent enough to become acquainted with the exclusive young ladies of Tamawaca under false pretenses."
"But I didn't, Susie! I met them through your accident, and they never asked me how I earned a living."
"I know; but they forget that. They say you imposed upon them by assuming that you are a gentleman."
Jim laughed merrily.
"Where do you draw the line, Susie, between a gentleman and—and—what's the other thing?—an undesirable acquaintance?"
"Perhaps so. I don't draw the line, myself, so you must ask the girls to explain. Perhaps, now that you've become the private secretary of a famous lawyer, you will be cultivated instead of being snubbed. But I'm not sure of that."
Jim started work Monday morning and found his task no sinecure. Jarrod had a lot of correspondence to answer and a good many papers to be copied. Also there was an inventory to be made of the property covered by the option given by Easton and Wilder, and their books to be gone over. But Jim was both industrious and intelligent, and seemed to "fit the job" very well indeed.
Katie Glaston's triumph was brief. She had actually boosted Jim several pegs on the road to fortune, and when the girl discovered this she was so provoked that she left Tamawaca and went to visit friends at Spring Lake.
The other girls began to be properly ashamed of themselves, although the heiress refused to alter her opinion that "a poor young man had no business at a summer resort."
Gladys and Betty began nodding to Jim as he passed by, and although he returned the salutations with graceful politeness he never stopped or attempted to resume the old friendly relations. He had grown wonderfully fond of plain little Susie, who had remained his faithful adherent, and her society seemed just now fully sufficient to satisfy all his needs. He even took her to some of the dances, and found her a much more satisfactory partner than on that first evening when he met her and tested her accomplishments as a Terpsichore. She was still a bit awkward, but the little speeches they whispered to each other made them forget they were dancing until the music stopped and reminded them of the fact. The heiress had a new beau—a bulky blond named Neddie Roper—who was reputed a social lion and a railway magnate, although it afterward transpired he worked in the Pullman shops. Therefore Clara positively ignored "that Smith girl and her dry-goods clerk," who ought to have felt properly humiliated, but didn't.
Wilder came to Jarrod in a day or so and said:
"Well, dear boy, I've got the cold cash in hand to take up that option; so if you'll turn it over to me I'll settle the matter in a jiffy."
"In what way?" asked Jarrod.
"Why, I'll pay Easton his twenty thousand and let him go. And then I'll begin an era of public improvements, and try to induce the cottagers to fix things up a bit."
"I can't let you have the option," replied Jarrod. "It was given to me as trustee for the cottagers, and belongs to them."
"Have they got thirty thousand dollars to take it up?"
"No; not yet."
"And they never will have it," declared Wilder. "Your cottagers are a lot of corn-cobs, and you couldn't squeeze any juice out of them with a cider-press."
"I'm not sure of that," returned Jarrod, smiling. "Anyhow, the option is theirs to accept or reject, and I've called a meeting for Saturday night to find out what they wish to do."
That worried Wilder a little until he reflected that the cottagers' meetings were all "hot air and soap-bubbles." They couldn't raise thirty thousand dollars for Tamawaca in thirty years, and sooner or later the option would be turned over to him as a matter of course.
Meantime old man Easton had been quietly observant of the situation, and after the meeting of the cottagers was announced his suspicions that Jarrod was "not honest" took definite form and threw him into a condition bordering upon nervous prostration. He made a bee-line for the lawyer's cottage, and found Jarrod sunning himself on the front porch.
"Good morning, Mr. Jarrod," he began, cordially.
Jarrod nodded, but did not ask his visitor to be seated. He had just been going through the books of the partners and had discovered things that to his mind rendered social intercourse with a man like Easton impossible.
"I've called around to get that option," remarked the old man, seating himself upon the porch railing.
"What option?"
"The one I gave you so as to fool Wilder. You know what I mean," with an attempt at a jocose laugh which ended in an hysterical gurgle.
"Do you refer to the option you granted to me, as trustee for the cottagers of Tamawaca?" asked the lawyer, coldly.
"Why—why—that was only a bluff, you know. I gave you the option so as to buy out Wilder. You know that well enough."
Jarrod shook his head.
"The option belongs to the cottagers," he said. "You can't have it, Mr. Easton."
"What! Can't have the option!" His voice expressed both astonishment and reproach.
"By no means."
"I—I'm—afraid I'm going to—to faint!" gasped Easton in a wailing voice, as he fanned himself with his hat.
"I wouldn't," remarked the lawyer.
"But I—Oh, this is terrible—terrible!" gasped the old man, piteously. "If I don't get that option, Mr. Jarrod, I shall be ruined—utterly ruined!"
His frail body swayed from side to side, and with eyes half shut he watched the effect of his misery upon the stern faced man seated before him.
"Quite likely," said Jarrod, yawning.
"Ruined—ruined! At my age to face the poor-house! Oh, my poor family—oh,—oh,—oh!"
He leaned backward, threw up his arms and fell over the rail of the porch to lie motionless on the soft sand beneath.
Jarrod laughed. After a minute or so of silence he said calmly:
"There's a red spider crawling up your left pant-leg."
Easton sat up and with a nervous motion shook the bottoms of his trousers. Then he glanced at his persecutor, who was just now gazing reflectively over the smooth waters of the lake, which showed between the foliage of the trees.
"Sir," said the old man, in a voice trembling with emotion, as he dusted the sand from his clothes and once more mounted the steps of the porch, "you are a cold-blooded brute!"
"I know," acknowledged Jarrod. "But I'm not as bad as I used to be. Ask my wife. She'll tell you I haven't knocked her down and stamped on her in over a month."
Easton sighed. He must change his tactics, evidently.
"I take it," he remarked, in a mournful voice, "that this is a business matter."
"You should have taken it that way before," said Jarrod.
Easton brightened.
"Of course," he rejoined. "How careless of me! But now, I trust, we understand each other. How much, Mr. Jarrod?"
"Eh?"
Easton glanced furtively around to assure himself there were no listeners.
"How much will you take to deliver to me that paper—the option I gave you the other day?"
"Sir!"
"That's all right. Get as indignant as you like, Mr. Jarrod. I admire you for it. But just state your figure and I'll write you a check." He took out a check-book, and began to unscrew his fountain-pen. "Every man has his price, of course; but I know you won't rob me, Mr. Jarrod. You'll be reasonable, because I'm an old man and can't afford to——"
A door slammed and he looked up startled. The porch was empty save for his own astonished person, and after waiting five or ten minutes for the lawyer to return Easton slowly slid his check-book into his pocket and tottered home with feeble, uncertain steps.
After that interview Jarrod seemed different, even to his friends. His jaw was set and his eyes had a steely gleam in them that boded no good to any who might interfere with his purposes. Never before, even in those wild days when he strove to control the Crosbys, had he felt so humiliated and humbled in his own estimation, and his one desire was to have done with this miserable business as soon as possible.
The cottagers' meeting was a surprise not only to Wilder, who took pains to be present and had pains because of it, but to the participants themselves. Jarrod's report of what had been accomplished set them wild with enthusiasm, and when they realized that their committee had faithfully served their interests and found a way to release them from the bondage of Easton and Wilder, they promptly awoke from their customary lethargy and voted to take up the option. Every person present agreed to subscribe for stock in a new company composed exclusively of cottagers, which would thereafter own and control Tamawaca and operate the public utilities without profit and for the benefit of the community as a whole.
"But," said Wilder to Jarrod, next day, "you can't issue stock until you have the property, and you have no way to raise the thirty thousand to get the property. Why not turn the option over to me without any more fooling?"
"Wait," replied the lawyer, smiling. He did not resent Wilder's eagerness to get the option, because he was frank and straightforward in his methods. But his one word was so far from encouraging that Wilder looked at him and shuddered involuntarily. Never in his experience had he encountered a man like this, who didn't know when he was beaten and couldn't be cajoled or bulldozed. From that moment his fears grew, until he was forced to realize that in carrying out his clever scheme to oust his partner he had also ousted himself from a peculiarly profitable business enterprise.
Wilder was right in his statement that it had always been impossible to induce the cottagers to put any money into public improvements; yet that was because they realized they were asked to pay for things that Easton and Wilder should have done at their own expense. But conditions had now changed. Jarrod could have had a hundred thousand dollars as easily as the thirty required to take up the option. A dozen stood ready to advance the money, but the lawyer selected three of the most public spirited and liberal of the cottagers, and made them popular by letting them advance ten thousand each. The option was taken up, because neither Easton nor Wilder could find a way to legally withdraw from its terms, and the transfer was consummated, all the property being formally deeded to the newly incorporated Tamawaca Association.
Thus ended one of the most amusing financial intrigues on record. The amount involved was insignificant; Tamawaca itself is almost unknown in the great world. Yet the three-cornered game was as carefully planned and played as any of the campaigns of Napoleon, and it was won because each of the partners conspired against the other and was finally content to be a loser by the deal as long as he could cause annoyance to his enemy. Never, in all probability, could the cottagers in any other way have been able to secure control of the beautiful resort where they had built their summer homes.
As for Jarrod, he hid to escape congratulations that were showered upon him from every side, and in the seclusion of his side porch breathed a sigh of relief.
Jim speedily found himself upon friendly terms with all the "resorters" at Tamawaca. He worked for Jarrod mornings and in the afternoons and evenings enjoyed himself thoroughly. When "Regatta Week" arrived—the week of the Yacht Club boat races, when the four yachtsmen competed for the prizes that were donated by the liberal merchants of Kochton and Grand Rapids, and divided the spoils amicably—during that week Jim helped to get up the annual "Venetian Evening," the one really famous attraction of the year.
On this occasion the entire bay was enclosed with lines of gorgeous Japanese lanterns placed in artistic designs along the shore. The Yacht Club, the hotels at Iroquois Bay and Tamawaca and all the buildings facing the bay were elaborately decorated with bunting and lanterns, while the sail-boats anchored upon the mirror-like surface of the water displayed a like splendor. Bands played on the ferry-boats, bonfires on the neighboring heights glared and twinkled, many launches brilliant with colored lights moved slowly over the bay, while rockets and roman candles sent their spluttering displays into the dim sky overhead. All the world was there to see the sight and the popcorn and peanut men reaped a harvest.
It has been seriously asserted that Venice in its palmiest days has never been able to compete with Tamawaca on "Venetian Evening."
During the delightful August weather social functions at the resort reached their acme of enjoyment and followed one another as thickly as the fleeting hours would permit. In some circles these affairs were conducted with much solemn propriety; but many folks who suffered under the imperious exactions of "good form" during the rest of the year revolted from its tyranny while on their summer vacations, and loved to be merry and informal. They were gathered from many cities of the South, East, North and West, and here thrown together in a motley throng whose antecedents and established social positions at home it would be both difficult and useless to determine. So certain congenial circles were formed with the prime object of "having a good time," and they undoubtedly succeeded in their aim.
Jim, who before he quarrelled with his father had been accustomed to mingle with the 400 of old St. Louis, was greatly amused at some of these entertainments, many of which he attended with demure little Susie.
Rivers, a jolly fellow who owned a lake front cottage—one of the titles to distinction at Tamawaca—organized a "surprise party" on George B. Still (another lake-fronter) one evening. A band of some twenty people assembled at the cottage of a neighbor, all carrying baskets laden with frosted bricks in place of cake, beer-bottles filled with clear spring water but still bearing Budweiser labels, mud-pies with nicely browned crusts, turnips fried to resemble saratoga chips and other preposterous donations of a similar character.
Then they stole silently to George's cottage, and when he opened the door in answer to their timid knock burst into a sudden flood of merriment that never subsided until after midnight.
The Stills were as pleased as could be, but no one paid much attention to them. Somebody thumped the piano while everybody else danced a two-step regardless of interfering toes or furniture.
Little Drybug, a dapper man who weighed about seventy-six pounds but didn't look so heavy, cavorted with blushing Mrs. Still who weighed something less than three hundred—but not much—and nearly committed suicide in the attempt. Commodore Diller danced with Grandma Jones, a rosy-cheeked antiquity who blushed as charmingly as a girl of sixteen, and the general mix-up was about as laughable as could well be.
In the breathless pause that presently ensued as a matter of course, Mr. Idowno, a solemn faced gentleman who had attended the party with his smiling, chubby wife but could not dance a single caper, protested in an audible tone that it was time he must be going. "I have to work for a living, you know," explained this individual, who was director in several banks and controlled a number of business enterprises and could not get them off his mind.
But the company laughed him to scorn and decided to play "five hundred" for a series of prizes that had not been provided in advance, and were therefore invisible.
So the self-invited guests rigged up card tables and chose partners and fought and quarreled for points until Mrs. Rivers rung a gong and invited all to supper.
Then they jumped up and trooped into an adjoining room, where the frosted bricks and mud pies had been spread for a banquet; and although George B. accepted his donations with good humor the guests began to wonder if the joke was not on themselves, after all, since their jolly exertions had created a demand in their interiors for real food.
"Well, I must be going," said the solemn Idowno. "I have to work for——"
"This way, please!" called Mrs. Still, cheerily, and threw open another door, disclosing an enticing array of provender that caused a stampede in that direction.
"How on earth did you happen to have all this on hand?" Susie enquired of Mrs. Still, as she and Jim squeezed themselves into a corner. "Didn't Mrs. Rivers keep her surprise party a secret?"
"Of course, as secret as she can keep anything," answered the laughing hostess; "but I had an intuition there'd be a lot of hungry folks here tonight, so we've been busy all day getting ready for them."
After the supper, which consumed two hours in being consumed, Mr. Idowno once more claimed he must be going; but the guests rose up and loudly demanded the prizes they had won at cards. From the size of the hubbub it appeared that nearly every one present was entitled to a prize.
For once the Stills were non-plussed. They really hadn't thought of "prizes" for their surprise party, and hesitated what to say or do. But their guests settled the matter in their own way.
Mr. Iward took possession of a Japanese screen; Mrs. Rivers grabbed a mantel ornament; Mrs. Jarrod seized upon an antique candlestick she had long coveted and plump Mrs. Diller grabbed a picture off the wall. Mrs. Purspyre found a Bible and appropriated it because she had always had a curiosity to read it. Mr. Bowsir espied a paper-cutter of ivory, which he secured after a struggle with George B., who wanted it himself, while Katherine Pance swiped an embroidered cover from the center-table and Mr. Connover took the table itself.
And so, amid screams and laughter, the pretty room was despoiled of its treasures, for the Stills were greatly outnumbered by their guests and powerless to protect their property.
As the heavily laden company trooped away down the walk, singing as blithely as the forty thieves might have done, Mr. Wright, the author-man, who had really won a prize but found the place stripped when he returned from the dining-room (where he had been to hunt for one last sandwich) gave a sigh and lifted the front door from its hinges, carrying it home with many protests that "it was just about as useful as any prize he had won that year."
And so ended the "surprise party," but little Minnie Still said confidentially to her chum next day:
"We had a rough-house at our cottage last night, and they behaved just dreadful! Why, if we young folks ever acted the way those old married people did, my mother would send me back to Quincy in double-quick time."
Such commentaries by children upon their elders are doubly sad when they happen to be true.