“Trust Nate for that,” interrupted Wingate. “He's just as much a born bully as he is a cheat and a skinflint.”
“Yup,” went on Captain Sol. “Well, when Nate got back to the house the professor was alone in the chair, lookin' sick and weak. Olivia was up in her room havin' a cryin' fit. Nate got the old man to bed, made him some clam soup and hot tea, and fetched and carried for him like he was a baby. The professor's talk was mainly about the ungrateful desertion, as he called it, of his assistant.
“'Keep him away from this island,' he says. 'If he comes, I shall commit murder; I know it.'
“Scudder promised that Augustus shouldn't come back. The professor wanted guard kept night and day. Nate said he didn't know's he could afford so much time, and Dixland doubled his wages on the spot. So Nate agreed to stand double watches, made him comfort'ble for the night, and left him.
“Olivia didn't come downstairs again. She didn't seem to want any supper, but Nate did and had it, a good one. Galileo, the cat, came yowlin' around, and Nate kicked him under the sofy. Phillips Brooks was howlin' starvation in the woodshed, and Scudder let him howl. If he starved to death Nate wouldn't put no flowers on his grave. Take it altogether, he was havin' a fairly good time.
“And when, later on, he set alone up in his room over the kitchen, he begun to have a better one. Prospects looked good. Maybe old Dixland WOULD disown his niece. If he did, Nate figgered he was as healthy a candidate for adoption as anybody. And Augustus would have to come to terms or stay single. That is, unless him and Olivia got married on nothin' a week, paid yearly. Nate guessed Huldy Ann would think he'd managed pretty well.
“He set there for a long while, thinkin', and then he says he cal'lates he must have dozed off. At any rate, next thing he knew he was settin' up straight in his chair, listenin'. It seemed to him that he'd heard a sound in the kitchen underneath.
“He looked out of the window, and right away he noticed somethin'. 'Twas a beautiful, clear moonlight night, and the high board fence around the buildin's showed black against the white sand. And in that white strip was a ten-foot white gape. Nate had shut that gate afore he went upstairs. Who'd opened it? Then he heard the noise in the kitchen again. Somebody was talkin' down there.
“Nate got up and tiptoed acrost the room. He was in his stockin' feet, so he didn't make a sound. He reached into the corner and took out his old duck gun. It was loaded, both barrels. Nate cocked the gun and crept down the back stairs.
“There was a lamp burnin' low on the kitchen table, and there, in a couple of chairs hauled as close together as they could be, set that Olivia niece and Augustus. They was in a clove hitch again and whisperin' soft and slushy.
“My! but Scudder was b'ilin'! He give one jump and landed in the middle of that kitchen floor.
“'You—you—you!' he yelled, wavin' the shotgun. 'You're back here, are you? You know what I told you I'd do to you? Well, now, I'll do it.'
“The pair of 'em had jumped about as far as Nate had, only the opposite way. Augustus was a paralyzed statue, but Olivia had her senses with her.
“'Run, Augustus!' she screamed. 'He'll shoot you. Run!'
“And then, with a screech like a siren whistle, Augustus commenced to run. Nate was between him and the outside door, so he bolted headfirst into the dining room. And after him went Nate Scudder, so crazy mad he didn't know what he was doin'.
“'Twas pitch dark in the dining room, but through it they went rattlety bang! dishes smashin', chairs upsettin' and 'hurrah, boys!' to pay gen'rally. Then through the best parlor and into the front hall.
“I cal'late Nate would have had him at the foot of the front stairs if it hadn't been for Galileo. That cat had been asleep on the sofy, and the noise and hullabaloo had stirred him up till he was as crazy as the rest of 'em. He run right under Nate's feet and down went Nate sprawlin' and both barrels of the shotgun bust loose like a couple of cannon.
“Galileo took for tall timber, whoopin' anthems. Up them front stairs went Augustus, screechin' shrill, like a woman; he was SURE Nate meant to murder him now. And after him his uncle went on all fours, swearin' tremendous.
“Then 'twas through one bedroom after another, and each one more crowded with noisy, smashable things than that previous. Nate said he could remember the professor roarin' 'Fire!' and 'Help!' as the two of 'em bumped into his bed, but they didn't stop—they was too busy. The whole length of the house upstairs they traveled, then through the ell, then the woodshed loft, and finally out into the upper story of the barn. And there Nate knew he had him. The ladder was down.
“'Now!' says Nate. 'Now, you long-legged villain, if I don't give you what's comin' to you, then—Oh, there ain't no use in your climbin' out there; you can't get down.'
“The big barn doors was open, and, in the moonlight, Nate could see Gus scramblin' up and around on the flyin' stage where the professor's aeroplane was perched, lookin' like some kind of magnified June bug.
“'Come back, you fool!' Scudder yelled at him. 'Come back and be butchered. You might as well; it's too high for you to drop. You won't? Then I'll come after you.'
“Nate says he never shall forget Augustus's face in the blue light when he see his uncle climbin' out on that stage after him. He was simply desperate—that's it, desperate. And the next thing he did was jump into the saddle of the machine and pull the startin' lever.
“There was the buzz of the electric motor, a slippery, slidin' sound, one awful hair-raisin' whoop from Augustus, and then—'F-s-s-s-t!'—down the flyin' stage whizzed that aeroplane and out through the doors.
“Nate set down on the trestles and waited for the sound of the smash. I guess he actually felt conscience stricken. Of course, he'd only done his duty, and yet—
“But no smash came. Instead, there was a long scream from the kitchen—Olivia's voice that was. And then another yell that for pure joy beat anything ever heard.
“'It flies!' screamed Professor Ansel Hobart Whiskers Dixland, from his bedroom window. 'At last! At last! It FLIES!'
“It took Nate some few minutes to paw his way back through the shed loft and the ell over the things him and Gus knocked down on the fust lap, until he got to his room where the trouble had started. Then he went down to the kitchen and outdoor.
“Olivia, a heavenly sort of look on her face, was standin' in the moonlight, with her hands clasped, lookin' up at the sky.
“'It flies!' says she, in a kind of whisper over and over again. 'Oh! it FLIES!'
“Alongside of her was old Dixland, wrapped in a bedquilt, forgettin' all about sprains and lameness; and he likewise was staring at the sky and sayin' over and over:
“'It flies! It really FLIES!'
“And Nate looked up, and there, scootin' around in circles, now up high and now down low, tippin' this way and tippin' that, was that aeroplane. And in the stillness you could hear the buzz of the motor and the yells of Augustus.
“Down flopped Scudder in the sand. 'Great land of love,' he says, 'it FLIES!'
“Well, for five minutes or so they watched that thing swoop and duck and sail up there overhead. And then, slow and easy as a feather in a May breeze, down she flutters and lands soft on a hummock a little ways off. And that Augustus—a fool for luck—staggers out of it safe and sound, and sets down and begins to cry.
“The fust thing to reach him was Olivia. She grabbed him around the neck, and you never heard such goin's on as them two had. Nate come hurryin' up.
“'Here you!' he says, pullin' 'em apart. 'That's enough of this. And you,' he adds to Gus, 'clear right out off this island. I won't make shark bait of you this time, but—'
“And then comes Dixland, hippity-hop over the hummocks. 'My noble boy!' he sings out, fallin' all of a heap onto Augustus's round shoulders. 'My noble boy! My hero!'
“Nate looked on for a full minute with his mouth open. Olivia went away toward the house. The professor and Gus was sheddin' tears like a couple of waterin' pots.
“'Come! come!' says Scudder finally; 'get up, Mr. Dixland; you'll catch cold. Now then, you Tolliver, toddle right along to your boat. Don't you worry, professor, I'll fix him so's he won't come here no more.'
“But the professor turned on him like a flash.
“'How dare you interfere?' says he. 'I forgive him everything. He is a hero. Why, man, he FLEW!'
“Olivia came up behind and touched Nate on the shoulders. 'Don't you think you'd better go, Mr. Scudder?' she purred. 'I've unchained Phillips Brooks.'
“Nate swears he never made better time than he done gettin' to the shore and the boat Augustus had come over in. But that philanthropist dog only missed the supper he'd been waitin' for by about a foot and a half, even as 'twas.
“And that was the end of it, fur's Nate was concerned. Olivia was boss from then on, and Scudder wa'n't allowed to land on his own island. And pretty soon they all went away, flyin' machine and all, and now Gus and Olivia are married.”
“Well, by gum!” cried Wingate. “Say, that must have broke Nate's heart completely. All that good money goin' to the poor. Ha! ha!”
“Yes,” said Captain Sol, with a broad grin. “Nate told me that every time he realized that Gus's flyin' at all was due to his scarin' him into it, it fairly made him sick of life.”
“What did Huldy Ann say? I'll bet the fur flew when SHE heard of it!”
“I guess likely it did. Scudder says her jawin's was the worst of all. Her principal complaint was that he didn't take up with the professor's five-thousand offer and try to fly. 'What if 'twas risky?' she says. 'If anything happened to you the five thousand would have come to your heirs, wouldn't it? But no! you never think of no one but yourself.'”
Mr. Wingate glanced at his watch. “Good land!” he cried, “I didn't realize 'twas so late. I must trot along down and meet Stitt. He and I are goin' to corner the clam market.”
“I must be goin', too,” said the depot master, rising and moving toward the door, picking up his cap on the way. He threw open the door and exclaimed, “Hello! here's Sim. What you got on your mind, Sim?”
Mr. Phinney looked rather solemn. “I wanted to speak with you a minute, Sol,” he began. “Hello! Barzilla, I didn't know you was here.”
“I shan't be here but one second longer,” replied Mr. Wingate, as he and Phinney shook hands. “I'm late already. Bailey'll think I ain't comin'. Good-by, boys. See you this afternoon, maybe.”
“Yes, do,” cried Berry, as his guest hurried down to the gate. “I want to hear about those automobiles over your way. You ain't bought one, have you, Barzilla?”
Wingate grinned over his shoulder. “No,” he called, “I ain't. But other folks you know have. It's the biggest joke on earth. You and Sim'll want to hear it.”
He waved a big hand and walked briskly up the Shore Road. The depot master turned to his friend.
“Well, Sim?” he asked.
“Well, Sol,” answered the building mover gravely, “I've just met Mr. Hilton, the minister, and he told me somethin' about Olive Edwards, somethin' I thought you'd want to know. You said for me to find out what she was cal'latin' to do when she had to give up her home and—”
“I know what I said,” interrupted the depot master rather sharply. “What did Hilton say?”
“Mr. Hilton told me not to tell,” continued Phinney, “and I shan't tell nobody but you, Sol. I know you wont t mention it. The minister says that Olive's hard up as she can be. All she's got in the world is the little furniture and store stuff in her house. The store stuff don't amount to nothin', but the furniture belonged to her pa and ma, and she set a heap by it. Likewise, as everybody knows, she's awful proud and self-respectin'. Anything like charity would kill her. Now out West—in Omaha or somewheres—she's got a cousin who owed her dad money. Old Cap'n Seabury lent this Omaha man two or three thousand dollars and set him up in business. Course, the debt's outlawed, but Olive don't realize that, or, if she did, it wouldn't count with her. She couldn't understand how law would have any effect on payin' money you honestly owe. She's written to the Omaha cousin, tellin' him what a scrape she's in and askin' him to please, if convenient, let her have a thousand or so on account. She figgers if she gets that, she can go to Bayport or Orham or somewheres and open another notion store.”
Captain Berry lit a cigar. “Hum!” he said, after a minute. “You say she's written to this chap. Has she got an answer yet?”
“No, not any definite one. She heard from the man's wife sayin' that her husband—the cousin—had gone on a fishin' trip somewheres up in Canady and wouldn't be back afore the eighth of next month. Soon's he does come he'll write her. But Mr. Hilton thinks, and so do I—havin' heard a few things about this cousin—that it's mighty doubtful if he sends any money.”
“Yes, I shouldn't wonder. Where's Olive goin' to stay while she's waitin' to hear?”
“In her own house. Mr. Hilton went to Williams and pleaded with him, and he finally agreed to let her stay there until the 'Colonial' is moved onto the lot. Then the Edwardses house'll be tore down and Olive'll have to go, of course.”
The depot master puffed thoughtfully at his cigar.
“She won't hear before the tenth, at the earliest,” he said. “And if Williams begins to move his 'Colonial' at once, he'll get it to her lot by the seventh, sure. Have you given him your figures for the job?”
“Handed 'em in this very mornin'. One of his high-and-mighty servants, all brass buttons and braid, like a feller playin' in the band, took my letter and condescended to say he'd pass it on to Williams. I'd liked to have kicked the critter, just to see if he COULD unbend; but I jedged 'twouldn't be good business.”
“Probably not. If the 'Colonial' gets to Olive's lot afore she hears from the Omaha man, what then?”
“Well, that's the worst of it. The minister don't know what she'll do. There's plenty of places where she'd be more'n welcome to visit a spell, but she's too proud to accept. Mr. Hilton's afraid she'll start for Boston to hunt up a job, or somethin'. You know how much chance she stands of gettin' a job that's wuth anything.”
Phinney paused, anxiously awaiting his companion's reply. When it came it was very unsatisfactory.
“I'm goin' to the depot,” said the Captain, brusquely. “So long, Sim.”
He slammed the door of the house behind him, strode to the gate, flung it open, and marched on. Simeon gazed in astonishment, then hurried to overtake him. Ranging alongside, he endeavored to reopen the conversation, but to no purpose. The depot master would not talk. They turned into Cross Street.
“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Phinney, panting from his unaccustomed hurry, “what be we, runnin' a race? Why! . . . Oh, how d'ye do, Mr. Williams, sir? Want to see me, do you?”
The magnate of East Harniss stepped forward.
“Er—Phinney,” he said, “I want a moment of your time. Morning, Berry.”
“Mornin', Williams,” observed Captain Sol brusquely. “All right, Sim. I'll wait for you farther on.”
He continued his walk. The building mover stood still. Mr. Williams frowned with lofty indignation.
“Phinney,” he said, “I've just looked over those figures of yours, your bid for moving my new house. The price is ridiculous.”
Simeon attempted a pleasantry. “Yes,” he answered, “I thought 'twas ridic'lous myself; but I needed the money, so I thought I could afford to be funny.”
The Williams frown deepened.
“I didn't mean ridiculously low,” he snapped; “I meant ridiculously high. I'd rather help out you town fellows if I can, but you can't work me for a good thing. I've written to Colt and Adams, of Boston, and accepted their offer. You had your chance and didn't see fit to take it. That's all. I'm sorry.”
Simeon was angry; also a trifle skeptical.
“Mr. Williams,” he demanded, “do you mean to tell me that THEM people have agreed to move you cheaper'n I can?”
“Their price—their actual price may be no lower; but considering their up-to-date outfit and—er—progressive methods, they're cheaper. Yes. Morning, Phinney.”
He turned on his heel and walked off. Mr. Phinney, crestfallen and angrier than ever, moved on to where the depot master stood waiting for him. Captain Sol smiled grimly.
“You don't look merry as a Christmas tree, Sim,” he observed. “What did his Majesty have to say to you?”
Simeon related the talk with Williams. The depot master's grim smile grew broader.
“Sim,” he asked, with quiet sarcasm, “don't you realize that progressive methods are necessary in movin' a house?”
Phinney tried to smile in return, but the attempt was a failure.
“Yes,” went on the Captain. “Well, if you can't take the Grand Panjandrum home, you can set on the fence and see him go by. That ought to be honor enough, hadn't it? However, I may need some of your ridiculous figgers on a movin' job of my own, pretty soon. Don't be TOO comical, will you?”
“What do you mean by that, Sol Berry?”
“I mean that I may decide to move my own house.”
“Move your OWN house? Where to, for mercy sakes?”
“To that lot on Main Street that belongs to Abner Payne. Abner has wanted to buy my lot here on the Shore Road for a long time. He knows it'll make a fine site for some rich bigbug's summer 'cottage.' He would have bought the house, too, but I think too much of that to sell it. Now Abner's come back with another offer. He'll swap my lot for the Main Street one, pay my movin' expenses and a fair 'boot' besides. He don't really care for my HOUSE, you understand; it's my LAND he's after.”
“Are you goin' to take it up?”
“I don't know. The Main Street lot's a good one, and my house'll look good on it. And I'll make money by the deal.”
“Yes, but you've always swore by that saltwater view of yours. Told me yourself you never wanted to live anywheres else.”
Captain Sol took the cigar from his lips, looked at it, then threw it violently into the gutter.
“What difference does it make where I live?” he snarled. “Who in blazes cares where I live or whether I live at all?”
“Sol Berry, what on airth—”
“Shut up! Let me alone, Sim! I ain't fit company for anybody just now. Clear out, there's a good feller.”
The next moment he was striding down the hill. Mr. Phinney drew a long breath, scratched his head and shook it solemnly. WHAT did it all mean?
The methods of Messrs. Colt and Adams, the Boston firm of building movers, were certainly progressive, if promptness in getting to work is any criterion. Two days after the acceptance of their terms by Mr. Williams, a freight car full of apparatus arrived at East Harniss. Then came a foreman and a gang of laborers. Horses were hired, and within a week the “pure Colonial” was off its foundations and on its way to the Edwards lot. The moving was no light task. The big house must be brought along the Shore Road to the junction with the Hill Boulevard, then swung into that aristocratic highway and carried up the long slope, around the wide curve, to its destination.
Mr. Phinney, though he hated the whole operation, those having it in charge, and the mighty Williams especially, could not resist stealing down to see how his successful rivals were progressing with the work he had hoped to do. It caused him much chagrin to see that they were getting on so very well. One morning, after breakfast, as he stood at the corner of the Boulevard and the Shore Road, he found himself engaged in a mental calculation.
Three days more and they would swing into the Boulevard; four or five days after that and they would be abreast the Edwards lot. Another day and . . . Poor Olive! She would be homeless. Where would she go? It was too early for a reply from the Omaha cousin, but Simeon, having questioned the minister, had little hope that that reply would be favorable. Still it was a chance, and if the money SHOULD come before the “pure Colonial” reached the Edwards lot, then the widow would at least not be driven penniless from her home. She would have to leave that home in any event, but she could carry out her project of opening another shop in one of the neighboring towns. Otherwise . . . Mr. Phinney swore aloud.
“Humph!” said a voice behind him. “I agree with you, though I don't know what it's all about. I ain't heard anything better put for a long while.”
Simeon spun around, as he said afterwards, “like a young one's pinwheel.” At his elbow stood Captain Berry, the depot master, hands in pockets, cigar in mouth, the personification of calmness and imperturbability. He had come out of his house, which stood close to the corner, and walked over to join his friend.
“Land of love!” exclaimed Simeon. “Why don't you scare a fellow to death, tiptoein' around? I never see such a cat-foot critter!”
Captain Sol smiled. “Jumpin' it, ain't they?” he said, nodding toward the “Colonial.” “Be there by the tenth, won't it?”
“Tenth!” Mr. Phinney sniffed disgust. “It'll be there by the sixth, or I miss my guess.”
“Yup. Say, Sim, how soon could you land that shanty of mine in the road if I give you the job to move it?”
“I couldn't get it up to the Main Street lot inside of a fortnight,” replied Sim, after a moment's reflection. “Fur's gettin' it in the road goes, I could have it here day after to-morrow if I had gang enough.”
The depot master took the cigar out of his mouth and blew a ring of smoke. “All right,” he drawled, “get gang enough.”
Phinney jumped. “You mean you've decided to take up with Payne's offer and swap your lot for his?” he gasped. “Why, only two or three days ago you said—”
“Ya-as. That was two or three days ago, and I've been watchin' the 'Colonial' since. I cal'late the movin' habit's catchin'. You have your gang here by noon to-day.”
“Sol Berry, are you crazy? You ain't seen Abner Payne; he's out of town—”
“Don't have to see him. He's made me an offer and I'll write and accept it.”
“But you've got to have a selectmen's permit to move—”
“Got it. I went up and saw the chairman an hour ago. He's a friend of mine. I nominated him town-meetin' day.”
“But,” stammered Phinney, very much upset by the suddenness of it all, “you ain't got my price nor—”
“Drat your price! Give it when I ask it. See here, Sim, are you goin' to have my house in the middle of the road by day after to-morrer? Or was that just talk?”
“'Twa'n't talk. I can have it there, but—”
“All right,” said Captain Sol coolly, “then have it.”
Hands in pockets, he strolled away. Simeon sat down on a rock by the roadside and whistled.
However, whistling was a luxurious and time-wasting method of expressing amazement, and Mr. Phinney could not afford luxuries just then. For the rest of that day he was a busy man. As Bailey Stitt expressed it, he “flew round like a sand flea in a mitten,” hiring laborers, engaging masons, and getting his materials ready. That very afternoon the masons began tearing down the chimneys of the little Berry house. Before the close of the following day it was on the rollers. By two of the day after that it was in the middle of the Shore Road, just when its mover had declared it should be. They were moving it, furniture and all, and Captain Sol was, as he said, going to “stay right aboard all the voyage.” No cooking could be done, of course, but the Captain arranged to eat at Mrs. Higgins's hospitable table during the transit. His sudden freak was furnishing material for gossip throughout the village, but he did not care. Gossip concerning his actions was the last thing in the world to trouble Captain Sol Berry.
The Williams's “Colonial” was moving toward the corner at a rapid rate, and the foreman of the Boston moving firm walked over to see Mr. Phinney.
“Say,” he observed to Simeon, who, the perspiration streaming down his face, was resting for a moment before recommencing his labor of arranging rollers; “say,” observed the foreman, “we'll be ready to turn into the Boulevard by tomorrer night and you're blockin' the way.”
“That's all right,” said Simeon, “we'll be past the Boulevard corner by that time.”
He thought he was speaking the truth, but next morning, before work began, Captain Berry appeared. He had had breakfast and strolled around to the scene of operations.
“Well,” asked Phinney, “how'd it seem to sleep on wheels?”
“Tiptop,” replied the depot master. “Like it fust rate. S'pose my next berth will be somewheres up there, won't it?”
He was pointing around the corner instead of straight ahead. Simeon gaped, his mouth open.
“Up THERE?” he cried. “Why, of course not. That's the Boulevard. We're goin' along the Shore Road.”
“That so? I guess not. We're goin' by the Boulevard. Can go that way, can't we?”
“Can?” repeated Simeon aghast. “Course we CAN! But it's like boxin' the whole compass backward to get ha'f a p'int east of no'th. It's way round Robin Hood's barn. It'll take twice as long and cost—”
“That's good,” interrupted the Captain. “I like to travel, and I'm willin' to pay for it. Think of the view I'll get on the way.”
“But your permit from the selectmen—” began Phinney. Berry held up his hand.
“My permit never said nothin' about the course to take,” he answered, his eye twinkling just a little. “There, Sim, you're wastin' time. I move by the Hill Boulevard.”
And into the Boulevard swung the Berry house. The Colt and Adams foreman was an angry man when he saw the beams laid in that direction. He rushed over and asked profane and pointed questions.
“Thought you said you was goin' straight ahead?” he demanded.
“Thought I was,” replied Simeon, “but, you see, I'm only navigator of this craft, not owner.”
“Where is the blankety blank?” asked the foreman.
“If you're referrin' to Cap'n Berry, I cal'late you'll find him at the depot,” answered Phinney. To the depot went the foreman. Receiving little satisfaction there, he hurried to the home of his employer, Mr. Williams. The magnate, red-faced and angry, returned with him to the station. Captain Sol received them blandly. Issy, who heard the interview which followed, declared that the depot master was so cool that “an iceberg was a bonfire 'longside of him.” Issy's description of this interview, given to a dozen townspeople within the next three hours, was as follows:
“Mr. Williams,” said the wide-eyed Issy, “he comes postin' into the waitin' room, his foreman with him. Williams marches over to Cap'n Sol and he says, 'Berry,' he says, 'are you responsible for the way that house of yours is moved?'
“Cap'n Sol bowed and smiled. 'Yes,' says he, sweet as a fresh scallop.
“'You're movin' it to Main Street, aren't you? I so understood.'
“'You understood correct. That's where she's bound.'
“'Then what do you mean by turning out of your road and into mine?'
“'Oh, I don't own any road. Have you bought the Boulevard? The selectmen ought to have told us that. I s'posed it was town thoroughfare.'
“Mr. Williams colored up a little. 'I didn't mean my road in that sense,' he says. 'But the direct way to Main Street is along the shore, and everybody knows it. Now why do you turn from that into the Boulevard?'
“Cap'n Sol took a cigar from his pocket. 'Have one?' says he, passin' it toward Mr. Williams. 'No? Too soon after breakfast, I s'pose. Why do I turn off?' he goes on. 'Well, I'll tell you. I'm goin' to stay right aboard my shack while it's movin', and it's so much pleasanter a ride up the hill that I thought I'd go that way. I always envied them who could afford a house on the Boulevard, and now I've got the chance to have one there—for a spell. I'm sartin I shall enjoy it.'
“The foreman growled, disgusted. Mr. Williams got redder yet.
“'Don't you understand?' he snorts. 'You're blockin' the way of the house I'M movin'. I have capable men with adequate apparatus to move it, and they would be able to go twice as fast as your one-horse country outfit. You're blockin' the road. Now they must follow you. It's an outrage!'
“Cap'n Sol smiled once more. 'Too bad,' says he. 'It's a pity such a nice street ain't wider. If it was my street in my town—I b'lieve that's what you call East Harniss, ain't it?—seems to me I'd widen it.'
“The boss of 'my town' ground his heel into the sand. 'Berry,' he snaps, 'are you goin' to move that house over the Boulevard ahead of mine?'
“The Cap'n looked him square in the eye. 'Williams,' says he, 'I am.'
“The millionaire turned short and started to go.
“'You'll pay for it,' he snarls, his temper gettin' free at last.
“'I cal'late to,' purrs the Cap'n. 'I gen'rally do pay for what I want, and a fair price, at that. I never bought in cheap mortgages and held 'em for clubs over poor folks, never in my life. Good mornin'.'
“And right to Mr. Williams's own face, too,” concluded Issy. “WHAT do you think of that?”
Here was defiance of authority and dignity, a sensation which should have racked East Harniss from end to end. But most of the men in the village, the tradespeople particularly, had another matter on their minds, namely, Major Cuthbertson Scott Hardee, of “Silverleaf Hall.” The Major and his debts were causing serious worriment.
The creditors of the Major met, according to agreement, on the Monday evening following their previous gathering at the club. Obed Gott, one of the first to arrive, greeted his fellow members with an air of gloomy triumph and a sort of condescending pity.
Higgins, the “general store” keeper, acting as self-appointed chairman, asked if anyone had anything to report. For himself, he had seen the Major and asked point-blank for payment of his bill. The Major had been very polite and was apparently much concerned that his fellow townsmen should have been inconvenienced by any neglect of his. He would write to his attorneys at once, so he said.
“He said a whole lot more, too,” added Higgins. “Said he had never been better served than by the folks in this town, and that I kept a fine store, and so on and so forth. But I haven't got any money yet. Anybody else had any better luck?”
No one had, although several had had similar interviews with the master of “Silverleaf Hall.”
“Obed looks as if he knew somethin',” remarked Weeks. “What is it, Obed?”
Mr. Gott scornfully waved his hand.
“You fellers make me laugh,” he said. “You talk and talk, but you don't do nothin'. I b'lieve in doin', myself. When I went home t'other night, thinks I: 'There's one man that might know somethin' 'bout old Hardee, and that's Godfrey, the hotel man.' So I wrote to Godfrey up to Boston and I got a letter from him. Here 'tis.”
He read the letter aloud. Mr. Godfrey wrote that he knew nothing about Major Hardee further than that he had been able to get nothing from him in payment for his board.
“So I seized his trunk,” the letter concluded. “There was nothing in it worth mentioning, but I took it on principle. The Major told me a lot about writing to his attorneys for money, but I didn't pay much attention to that. I'm afraid he's an old fraud, but I can't help liking him, and if I had kept on running my hotel I guess he would have got away scot-free.”
“There!” exclaimed the triumphant Obed, with a sneer, “I guess that settles it, don't it? Maybe you'd be willin' to turn your bills over to Squire Baker now.”
But they were not willing. Higgins argued, and justly, that although the Major was in all probability a fraud, not even a lawyer could get water out of a stone, and that when a man had nothing, suing him was a waste of time and cash.
“Besides,” he said, “there's just a chance that he may have attorneys and property somewheres else. Let's write him a letter and every one of us sign it, tellin' him that we'll call on him Tuesday night expectin' to be paid in full. If we call and don't get any satisfaction, why, we ain't any worse off, and then we can—well, run him out of town, if nothin' more.”
So the letter was written and signed by every man there. It was a long list of signatures and an alarming total of indebtedness. The letter was posted that night.
The days that followed seemed long to Obed. He was ill-natured at home and ugly at the shop, and Polena declared that he was “gettin' so a body couldn't live with him.” Her own spirits were remarkably high, and Obed noticed that, as the days went by, she seemed to be unusually excited. On Thursday she announced that she was going to Orham to visit her niece, one Sarah Emma Cahoon, and wouldn't be back right off. He knew better than to object, and so she went.
That evening each of the signers of the letter to Major Hardee received a courteous note saying that the Major would be pleased to receive the gentlemen at the Hall. Nothing was said about payment.
So, after some discussion, the creditors marched in procession across the fields and up to “Silverleaf Hall.”
“Hardee's been to Orham to-day,” whispered the keeper of the livery stable, as they entered the yard. “He drove over this mornin' and come back to-night.”
“DROVE over!” exclaimed Obed, halting in his tracks. “He did? Where'd he get the team? I'll bet five dollars you was soft enough to let him have it, and never said a word. Well, if you ain't—By jimmy! you wait till I get at him! I'll show you that he can't soft soap me.”
Augustus met them at the door and ushered them into the old-fashioned parlor. The Major, calm, cool, and imperturbably polite, was waiting to receive them. He made some observation concerning the weather.
“The day's fine enough,” interrupted Obed, pushing to the front, “but that ain't what we come here to talk about. Are you goin' to pay us what you owe? That's what we want to know.”
The “gentleman of the old school” did not answer immediately. Instead he turned to the solemn servant at his elbow.
“Augustus,” he said, “you may make ready.” Then, looking serenely at the irate Mr. Gott, whose clenched fist rested under the center table, which he had thumped to emphasize his demands, the Major asked:
“I beg your pardon, my dear sir, but what is the total of my indebtedness to you?”
“Nineteen dollars and twenty-eight cents, and I want you to understand that—”
Major Hardee held up a slim, white hand.
“One moment, if you please,” he said. “Now, Augustus.”
Augustus opened the desk in the corner and produced an imposing stack of bank notes. Then he brought forth neat piles of halves, quarters, dimes, and pennies, and arranged the whole upon the table. Obed's mouth and those of his companions gaped in amazement.
“Have you your bill with you, Mr. Gott?” inquired the Major.
Dazedly Mr. Gott produced the required document.
“Thank you. Augustus, nineteen twenty-eight to this gentleman. Kindly receipt the bill, Mr. Gott, if you please. A mere formality, of course, but it is well to be exact. Thank you, sir. And now, Mr. Higgins.”
One by one the creditors shamefacedly stepped forward, received the amount due, receipted the bill, and stepped back again. Mr. Peters, the photographer, was the last to sign.
“Gentlemen,” said the Major, “I am sorry that my carelessness in financial matters should have caused you this trouble, but now that you are here, a representative gathering of East Harniss's men of affairs, upon this night of all nights, it seems fitting that I should ask for your congratulations. Augustus.”
The wooden-faced Augustus retired to the next room and reappeared carrying a tray upon which were a decanter and glasses.
“Gentlemen,” continued the Major, “I have often testified to my admiration and regard for your—perhaps I may now say OUR—charming village. This admiration and regard has extended to the fair daughters of the township. It may be that some of you have conscientious scruples against the use of intoxicants. These scruples I respect, but I am sure that none of you will refuse to at least taste a glass of wine with me when I tell you that I have this day taken one of the fairest to love and cherish during life.”
He stepped to the door of the dining room, opened it, and said quietly, “My dear, will you honor us with your presence?”
There was a rustle of black silk and there came through the doorway the stately form of her who had been Mrs. Polena Ginn.
“Gentlemen,” said the Major, “permit me to present to you my wife, the new mistress of 'Silverleaf Hall.'”
The faces of the ex-creditors were pictures of astonishment. Mr. Gott's expressive countenance turned white, then red, and then settled to a mottled shade, almost as if he had the measles. Polena rushed to his side.
“O Obed!” she exclaimed. “I know we'd ought to have told you, but 'twas only Tuesday the Major asked me, and we thought we'd keep it a secret so's to s'prise you. Mr. Langworthy over to Orham married us, and—”
“My dear,” her husband blandly interrupted, “we will not intrude our private affairs upon the patience of these good friends. And now, gentlemen, let me propose a toast: To the health and happiness of the mistress of 'Silverleaf Hall'! Brother Obed, I—”
The outside door closed with a slam; “Brother Obed” had fled.
A little later, when the rest of the former creditors of the Major came out into the moonlight, they found their companion standing by the gate gazing stonily into vacancy. “Hen” Leadbetter, who, with Higgins, brought up the rear of the procession, said reflectively:
“When he fust fetched out that stack of money I couldn't scarcely b'lieve my eyes. I begun to think that we fellers had put our foot in it for sartin, and had lost a mighty good customer; but, of course, it's all plain enough NOW.”
“Yes,” remarked Weeks with a nod; “I allers heard that P'lena kept a mighty good balance in the bank.”
“It looks to me,” said Higgins slyly, “as if we owed Obed here a vote of thanks. How 'bout that, Obed?”
And then Major Hardee's new brother-in-law awoke with a jump.
“Aw, you go to grass!” he snarled, and tramped savagely off down the hill.