CHAPTER III.THE CLOUDS GATHER.
CHAPTER III.
THE CLOUDS GATHER.
“And so unless we can raise that money somehow within a short time we shall have to leave dear old Shadyside!”
It was Roy who spoke, in troubled tones, some days after the successful flight of the Golden Butterfly. They were seated in the cool-looking living room of Miss Prescott’s home. The sun filtering in through the Venetian blinds, fell in patches on the polished floors—Peggy’s work, for Miss Prescott’s circumstances had been for some time too straitened to afford the servants she formerly had. But she had kept all knowledge of her struggle from her nephew and niece, until now the time had arrived when she felt that she could conceal no longer the object of old Sam Harding’s visit to her.
The old man, among other things, was Presidentof the Sandy Bay Bank. This bank, although the children did not know it, had long held a mortgage on Miss Prescott’s property. The kindly, sweet-souled lady had incurred the debt to forward her brother’s dreams. For poor Mr. Prescott had always been “just on the verge of making a fortune.” Mr. Harding’s errand was to state that the interest being long overdue and there being no immediate prospect of settlement the bank would have to foreclose. The real reason for this anxiety, which of course Miss Prescott, simple-minded lady, could not know, was, that a real estate concern wanted to purchase the property to erect a summer colony.
“But what of my securities in––and––and––?” inquired poor Miss Prescott, who really knew no more of business than Peggy’s French bull-dog.
“In the depressed state of the market that class of securities are worth nothing, madam,” was the response, “in addition, though I have refrained from telling you so till now, youraccount at the bank is much overdrawn. However,” he had continued, “to show you that we mean to be fair with you we will say nothing about that, but unless the bank gets its interest we must have the land.”
It was Miss Prescott’s relation of the true state of affairs to Roy and Peggy that sunny afternoon that had brought forth Roy’s exclamation recorded at the beginning of this chapter.
“But, auntie,” burst out Peggy, blankly, “does the man mean to say that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, on which we can realize anything?”
Miss Prescott shook her head slowly.
“There is nothing we can do,” she rejoined, sadly. “We shall have to leave dear old Shadyside and the land will be cut up and sold to strangers. Land which the first Prescott settled on and which has been in the family ever since. Oh, dear!” and Miss Prescott, never the most strong-minded of women, drew out her handkerchief and began to sniff ominously. Peggy,looking bewitchingly pretty in a simple muslin frock, wrinkled her forehead seriously.
“It can’t—it simply can’t be as bad as all that,” she persisted. “We can raise the money somehow.”
“Five thousand dollars!” cried Miss Prescott.
“Phew! That is a lot of money,” from Roy. But Peggy had jumped up from her chair.
“The contest, Roy! The contest!” she was exclaiming. “We must write this very day for particulars. If the Golden Butterfly can win that prize––”
“By Jove, sis, it’s five thousand dollars, isn’t it?” burst out Roy, almost equally excited. “I’d forgotten all about it up till now. What an idiot I am. If only––”
He stopped short suddenly, struck by a depressing thought. Probably there were plenty of machines, most of them far better than the Golden Butterfly, entered in the contest which they had read about. His enthusiasm diedaway—as was the way with Roy—almost as quickly as it had flamed up.
But Peggy would not hear of hesitation. She made Roy sit down that very night and write to the committee in charge of the Higgins’ prize. Under her brave, independent urgings things began to look brighter. It was a fairly cheerful party that sat down to a simple supper that evening.
“Oh, dear,” sighed Peggy, in the course of the meal, “if only I knew some one who needed a bright young woman to run an aeroplane, how I’d jump at the job.”
“You ought to get a high salary at it anyhow,” rather dolefully joked Roy.
“And make a high jump, too,” laughed Peggy; “but seriously, auntie, I can run the Butterfly almost as well as Roy. Mr. Homer said so before he left. He said: ‘Well, Miss Prescott, I’ve taught you all I know about an aeroplane. The rest lies with you, of course.’” Peggy went on modestly: “I could run an auto before. Ilearned on the one that Jess had at school, so it really wasn’t hard to get to understand the engine. Don’t you think I’m almost as good a—” Peggy paused for a word—“a—sky pilot!” she cried triumphantly, “as good a sky pilot as you are, Roy?”
“Almost,” modestly admitted Roy, his mouth full of strawberry shortcake, “but never mind about that now, sis. There are more important things to be thought of than that. I’m going into town to-morrow for two things. One is to see Mr. Harding myself. It takes a man to tackle these things––”
“Oh, dear!” sniffed Peggy.
“The other bit of business I have to attend to,” went on Roy, “is to get a position. It’s time I was a breadwinner.” Roy thought that sounded rather well and went on—“a breadwinner.”
“Oh, Roy!” cried his aunt, admiringly, “do you think you’ll be able to get a position?”
“Without a doubt, aunt,” rejoined Roy, confidently;“no doubt several business houses would be glad—to have me with them,” Roy was going to say but he thought better of it and concluded, “to give me a chance.”
Peggy said nothing, which rather irritated the boy. He concluded, however, that being a girl, she could hardly be expected to appreciate the responsibilities of the man of the household. For since that afternoon and its disclosures, Roy had, in his own mind, assumed that important position.
Somewhat to Roy’s surprise he found no difficulty in obtaining access to Mr. Harding at the bank. On the contrary, had he been expected he could not have been ushered into the old man’s presence with greater promptness. He stated his business briefly and straightforwardly.
“Now, Mr. Harding,” he concluded, “is there no way in which this matter can be straightened out?”
The old man, in the rusty black suit, picked upa pen and began drawing scrawly diagrams on the blotter in front of him. Apparently he was in deep thought. But had Roy been able to penetrate that mask-like face he would have been startled at what was passing in Simon Harding’s mind. At last he spoke:
“I understand that you have built an aeroplane which is a success?” he questioned.
“That’s right, sir,” said Roy, flushing proudly; “but the ideas we put into it were my father’s—every one of them. He practically made it his life work, you see, and––”
“And you beggared yourself carrying those ideas out, eh?” snarled the old man. “Oh, you need not look astonished. I know all about your affairs. More than you think for. And now having expended a wicked sum for the engine of this flying thing where do you expect to reap your profit?”
Roy was rather taken aback. In the past days—since the first wonderful flight of the Golden Butterfly—he had not given muchthought to that part of it. He realized this now with a rather embarrassed feeling. Old Harding eyed him keenly.
“Why—father, before he died, spoke of the government, sir. He wanted the United States to have the benefit of the machine if it proved successful.”
“Bah!” sneered old Harding, scornfully, “a mere visionary dream of an inventor. Now I have a business proposition to make to you. I myself am interested in aeroplanes—or rather in their manufacture.”
“You, Mr. Harding!” Roy looked his astonishment. The last vehicle in the world one would have thought of in connection with “Old Money Grubber,” as he was sometimes called, was an aeroplane. If he had been given to such things Roy would have concluded the old man was joking.
“Yes, sir,” snapped Mr. Harding, “I am. But not directly. It’s on Fanning’s account. He tells me that he has a chance to organize a companyto give aeroplane exhibitions and also to manufacture them. But he has not been able to find a suitable machine, or one that was not fully covered by patents till he saw yours in flight the other day.”
Suddenly he raised his voice:
“Fanning! Come here a minute.”
Almost immediately, through a door which Roy had not hitherto noticed, but which evidently led into an adjoining office, the figure of Simon Harding’s son appeared. To his chagrin, Roy realized that almost every word he had said to the father must have been overheard by the son.
Young Harding, who was dressed in a flashy gray suit, with trousers rolled up very high to exhibit electric blue socks of the same hue as his necktie, greeted Roy, who felt suddenly very shabby and insignificant, with a patronizing nod.
“Sorry you’re in difficulties, Roy,” he said, “but you never were a business chap even at school.”
The memory of certain monetary transactions in which young Harding had been concerned occurred to Roy. The other’s patronizing air angered him. He would have liked to make some sharp, meaning retort. But the thought of Peggy and his aunt restrained him. Roy was beginning to learn fast.
“You needn’t bother to tell me anything about the case,” went on the younger Harding. “I accidentally overheard all that you said. Now, Roy, my father has stated the case to you correctly. I’ve got a chance to make money with aeroplanes if I can only get hold of a new model. You’ve got just what I want.”
“Come to the point, my boy, come to the point,” urged his father.
“I’m getting there, ain’t I?” snarled the dutiful son. “Well, Roy, you’re in pretty tight straits. We can foreclose on that mortgage any day we want to. But we won’t do it if you give us a square deal. Forget the government. Make a deal with us consigning to me the rightto manufacture and exhibit those aeroplanes and I’ll set aside that mortgage and give you a thousand dollars to boot.”
“And suppose I won’t accept that offer?” asked Roy, slowly.
“Then we shall have to go ahead and foreclose. We want that land anyhow, but I am even more anxious to set up my son in a paying business,” exclaimed old Harding. “Our offer is a fair one. It amounts to giving you six thousand dollars for a thing of canvas, wire and clockwork.”
“Rather more than that, sir,” said Roy, in a steady voice, although he was inwardly blazing.
“Well, what do you say?” asked Fanning, eagerly. “We’ll draw up the papers right now if you say so.”
But Roy was learning fast. He knew that the offer just made him had been an inadequate one.
“I’d like to have time to think it over,” he said, hesitatingly.
“Take all the time you want,” said old Harding, with a wave of his shrivelled, claw-like hand.
But Fanning did not seem so pleased. It flashed across his mind that Roy wanted to consult with Peggy, and somehow Fanning felt that in that case his offer would meet with refusal. He therefore resolved to put in a heavy blow.
“But I want to start at once,” he said. “I can’t wait any length of time. When you think that if you don’t accept my offer you’ll all be without a roof over your heads I should think that for the sake of your sister and your aunt you’d accept.”
“They’ll never be in that position while I can work,” rejoined Roy, with a flushed face. He rose and picked up his hat. Somehow he felt that he could not stand Fanning very many minutes more.
“Yes, very fine talk, but what can you do?” snarled Simon Harding.