A “GENUINE CHUMP.”
It seemed so absurd that a twelve-year-old boy should be considering
plans for raising the large sum of money necessary to help Colonel Dale
out of his difficulties, that, after Arthur had gone to bed, those who
were left down-stairs found considerable amusement in wondering what his
scheme could be.
His grandfather said it would probably be a proposition to form an
errand-boy trust; while Mrs. Dale thought it would only prove to be some
absurd idea concerning railroad life, that the boy had picked up during
his recent travels. Miss Harriet, however, said that her “Prince Dusty”
was wiser than they imagined, and she did not believe he ever spoke
seriously, upon any subject, without knowing pretty well what he was
saying. So, by talking the matter over, they became greatly interested,
and quite curious to hear what Arthur would have to say the next
morning.
When they began to question him at breakfast time he gravely answered
that he had heard his papa say that the breakfast-table was not the
proper place to discuss business affairs. The seriousness with which
this speech was uttered, caused a general smile, and as Colonel Dale had
been heard to make the very same remark, no objections could be raised
against it.
After breakfast the little fellow invited his grandfather to accompany
him into the library, where he proceeded to unfold his plan. It was
nothing more nor less than that they should go back to Pennsylvania, and
sink a well, for oil, on the farm that his father had left him.
For a moment Colonel Dale looked at the boy to see if he were in
earnest, and then burst into a hearty laugh. “Why, Arthur!” he said at
length, “whatever put such an idea into your head? I don’t know the
first thing about oil wells, and I am afraid that, wise as you are, you
don’t know much more than I do.”
“That’s just it, sir!” replied the boy, eagerly. “And it is because both
of us are ‘chumps’ that we’ll be certain to strike oil. Brace Barlow
always said so. You see, a ‘chump’ is somebody who doesn’t know any more
about oil, or where to find it, than we do. What Brace Barlow says is,
that while those who know all about the business often strike ‘dusters,’
a ‘genuine chump’ always has luck with his first well. Now, you are a
‘genuine chump,’ you know. I’m afraid I am not quite genuine, because
Brace Barlow has told me so much about the business, and because I
helped him shoot a well. But, I think you must be genuine enough for
both of us. It’s a perfectly splendid way to make money, unless you
strike a ‘duster,’ but only ‘sharps’ do that.”
“What do you mean by ‘dusters’ and ‘sharps’? They sound exceedingly like
slang words,” said Colonel Dale, smiling.
“Oh, no, indeed, they are not!” cried Arthur. “Brace Barlow uses them,
and so does Uncle John. A ‘duster’ is a dry well—one that doesn’t have
any oil, you know; and a ‘sharp’ is one who understands all about the
oil business. He is just the most different kind of a man from a
‘chump,’ and is nearly always too wise to make money.”
“But, my boy, your farm is not even in the oil region; so what makes you
fancy that we could strike oil by sinking a well on it?” asked Colonel
Dale.
“Because I know two secrets about it,” answered the boy, mysteriously.
“One day when papa and I were walking in the back wood-lot, we smelled
gas, and by and by we found a tiny place in the rocks where it came out.
Papa lighted it, and it burned beautifully. Then he put it out, and told
me always to remember that place, but not to say anything about it to
anybody until the proper time came. After that papa studied a great deal
about oil, and he found out that our farm was on the forty-five degree
line, and said he was quite sure that oil would some day be found on it.
“So, while he didn’t tell anybody but me about it, he made Uncle John
promise never to sell the farm. I have thought several times, when I
needed money, that I would go back to my farm and get some oil to sell;
but then it has always come some other way, so I haven’t had to touch
it. Then I thought I would save it, until I was ready to be a railroad
man, and wanted to build a railroad of my own. Now I have decided that I
would rather you should have it than to do anything else in the world
with it, and then you can make Dalecourt beautiful again, and we can
always live here and be happy.”
Although at the time Colonel Dale made light of his little grandson’s
plans for acquiring wealth, this curious conversation set him to
thinking, and to looking up all the information concerning oil that he
could obtain. The more he considered the scheme, the more favorably he
was impressed with it, and the more inclined he was to attempt it.
Mrs. Allen Dale thought it was all nonsense; but Miss Harriet was
delighted with it, and begged her uncle to undertake it. “Just think!”
she exclaimed, “how fine it would be, if our little ‘Prince Dusty’
should turn out to be a little oil Prince. Wouldn’t it be splendid?”
At length, when the winter had passed, and the Virginia forests were
putting on their delicate spring robes of leaves and blossoms, Colonel
Dale decided to make the venture, and to sink a “wild-cat” well on the
Pennsylvania farm belonging to his grandson, with the hope of finding
oil.
It was a curious thing for a staid and elderly Virginia planter to
undertake; and, but for the desperate state of his fortunes, it is
doubtful if he would have considered the plan for a moment. As it was,
he mortgaged Dalecourt for the very last cent that could possibly be
raised on it, and, with the few thousand dollars thus obtained, started
for Pennsylvania.
Arthur and Miss Harriet accompanied him; the former, as a matter of
course, because, as he said, he was to be his grandpapa’s partner in
this new business. The latter went to keep house for them while the well
was being sunk, and to continue Arthur’s education, which she had
undertaken when he first came to Dalecourt. Mrs. Dale was to remain in
charge of the beautiful old place, which might so soon pass into the
hands of strangers, and Uncle Phin was also left behind to fill the
responsible position of head gardener.
On the morning that the little party set forth on the journey that, to
them, promised as much of glorious success or disastrous failure as did
ever an ancient voyage of discovery or exploration, Arthur was
enthusiastic over their undertaking, and confident of its complete
success. Miss Harriet was smiling and hopeful. Colonel Dale was serious,
and his face wore an air of quiet determination; while Mrs. Allen Dale
was tearful and doubtful. She bade them good-bye as though she never
expected to see them again; and, when they were gone, she gazed as sadly
about her, as though the last hope of Dalecourt had departed with them.
The journey was a rapid and pleasant one, occupying but two days and one
night, which was in striking contrast to the three months spent by
Arthur and Uncle Phin in traversing the same distance.
Arthur did not manifest much interest in Washington, as they passed
through it. He had suffered too much there to care to renew his
associations with the place. He only looked eagerly from the car window
at all the dogs that were to be seen, with the faint hope that one of
them might be his dear Rusty.
At Harrisburg he tried to point out to his companions Conductor Tobin’s
cottage; and, from there to Pittsburgh, he felt almost certain that
every freight train they passed must be No. 15, and that on each he
recognized Brakeman Joe. He was greatly disappointed that they did not
have time to go and see Aunt Charity; for he gratefully remembered all
those who had been kind to him in the time of his need, and would gladly
have renewed their acquaintance.