THE PROMISED LAND
There was a big man in the parlor, a hearty-looking man, manifestly of
the metropolis, patently of the “good sport” type. He was walking up and
down. With his tweed knickerbockers, his belted jacket, his diamonds in
his scarf and on his fingers, he was such an odd figure in the homely
surroundings that he produced on Vaniman a surprise effect. The young
man surveyed the stranger with the interest one might take in a queer
animal in a circus van; the big man's restless pacing suggested a caged
creature. But he took not the least interest in Vaniman, an unkempt
individual without a coat.
“Hexter, what did happen, anyway? I thought you were never coming back.
I had a good mind to chase you up, though it would be poor judgment for
me to show myself to-night.”
“This has happened!” The Squire pointed to Vaniman. The big man cocked
an inquiring eyebrow, looking at the Squire's exhibit with indifference.
“Colonel, this is Frank Vaniman. You know all about the case!”
The stranger stepped back so hastily that he knocked over a chair.
“Know about the case!” he bawled. “No, I don't know about it, either, if
this is the man the mountain fell on--or whatever it was that happened.
What kind of con is this you're giving me, Hexter?”
“This is the man, sir. What I mean by saying you know about the case is
that you have agreed with me that an innocent man was railroaded into
prison, after I gave you the facts. He is out through a trick worked
by a prison guard. He'll give us the details later. Just now it's more
important for you to be told that Tasper Britt, by his own acts, has
confessed that he robbed the Egypt Trust Company.”
“Well, I'll be damnationed!” blurted the big man, with such whole-souled
astonishment that the mode of expression was pardonable. “And I thought
that plenty and enough was happening in this town for one night!”
“Frank, this is Colonel Norman Wincott. He has well understood your case
from what I have told him. Now he will understand better. Colonel, won't
you allow Frank's story to wait? He is in a dreadfully nervous state,
poor chap. And I'm afraid he'll go crazy on our hands if he isn't
enlightened right away about what is going on here to-night.”
Colonel Wincott strode across the room and slapped Vaniman cordially on
the shoulder with one hand and pumphandled with the other. “Plenty of
men have escaped from state prison. There's a special novelty about a
story of that sort. But let me tell you that I'm the only man in the
world who has ever put over a proposition such as this one that is on
the docket right here and now. I don't blame you for being interested.”
It was plain that the colonel entertained no mean opinion of himself and
his projects. “All is, Vaniman, I hope your making a two-ring affair of
it hasn't taken the attention of the folks off the main show.”
“It has only added to the general effect,” affirmed the Squire. “It's a
clincher. Folks don't care now because Tasper Britt is awake. He has got
plenty of business of his own to attend to without calling in sheriffs
to slap on attachments.”
“Very good! The easier the better,” returned Colonel Wincott. “But when
I hired you to look after the law part, Hexter, I reckoned you could
counter every crack he made. Sit down, Vaniman!” He picked up the chair
he had overturned and took it for himself. “You have seen the parade,
some of it?”
“I saw a great deal of it, sir.”
“And you don't know where it's headed for?”
“No.”
The colonel leaned back and regarded the Squire with the satisfied
contentment of a cat who had tucked away the last morsel of the canary.
Then he winked at Vaniman. “Young man, did you ever hear of Wincott's
Pure Rye?”
“No, sir.”
“Glad of it! Hope you never were familiar with any other brands.
However, enough men did know about it in those dear, damp days beyond
recall to make me independent of the pawnshop, to say the least. And,
having cleaned up a good pot with whisky running down men's gullets, I
reckoned I'd see what I could do with water running downhill. Do you get
me at all so far?”
“No, sir.”
“Didn't suppose you would. I'm only shuffling the deck. Now for the
deal! Awhile ago I came up into this state from the South and I bought
the unorganized township that bounds this town on the north. It had gone
begging for a buyer because it's mostly pond and water power. But it's
what I wanted. And, having bought it, I used my check book and got
some good lobbyists on the job and I got a conditional charter from the
legislature. That is to say, it becomes a town charter automatically the
moment I can report a certain number of inhabitants--not mere men, but
families, regularly settled. Do you see?”
“I surely do begin to see, Colonel Wincott.”
“Vaniman, if I had gone to the cities and advertised for settlers, what
kind would I have got? Probably only a bunch of aliens dissatisfied
already; if they weren't sore on general conditions I couldn't coax 'em
to move. And aliens are always moving. I wanted some of the old breed of
Yankee pioneers. That's what my folks were, 'way back. I took a sly
peek into the town of Egypt. Good folks, but no opportunities here.
Everything gone to seed. Up in my township a new deal with a fresh deck!
Plenty of timber, plenty of rich land--and mills going up. Confound it!
I propose to be boss of a real town--not a wild land plantation!”
He suddenly shifted his posture. He came forward in his chair and set
his elbows on his knees. “Say, Vaniman, I got Hexter's opinion a few
days ago when I opened up to him and hired him to attend to the law. But
I want to ask you now what you think of my real-estate agent?”
The young man shifted his bewildered gaze from the colonel's jovial and
inquiring visage to the Squire's equally cheerful countenance.
“Known to Pharaoh and the modern Children of Israel as the Prophet
Elias, Frank,” explained the notary. “I have heartily indorsed his good
work. Furthermore, he knows well how to keep a secret and how to train
others to keep one. Tasper Britt went to bed this night without one
inkling of what was about to happen. He did not know that he was to be
left here without men to toil and pay him his twelve per cent. He has
town debts. He has the bare acres he has foreclosed on--he has the
tumble-down houses. He has the paupers on the poor farm. He--”
“Hold on, Squire! I forgot about those paupers,” broke in the colonel.
“I want a town that's fully rounded out. A few paupers belong in a town
so that they may serve to remind others folks that they must keep busy
and avoid the poor farm. And even the paupers will wake up and go to
work in my town! Work will be in the air. I'm going to send a wagon
after those paupers. Britt is no sort of a man to be allowed pets; he'll
let 'em starve.”
“Undoubtedly,” agreed the Squire. “I'll say, further, Frank, that when
the Prophet started off last evening, blowing his trump to sound the
signal for the migration, Britt stood and saw him go--and never guessed
what it meant.”
“I heard that horn--I wondered.”
“He's a good blower,” stated Colonel Wincott. “He blew all the props out
from under the man Britt. Solidly grounded on texts, Elias is! Vaniman,
a brand-new scheme needs a resourceful operator.” He patted the top of
his head. “Pardon me for flattering myself. I invented the system and
the Prophet played it.”
Then Colonel Wincott leaned back, stuck his thumbs into the armholes of
his vest, and rocked on the hind legs of the chair. “I played a hunch,”
he went on. “I was going through Scollay Square in Boston one evening
and I heard a street evangelist holding forth. He was preaching on the
subject, 'Bondage.' Sin he called Pharaoh. And he was hammering the
hearers with texts from Exodus. The idea hit me. I hung up beside the
curb till he was through preaching, then I invited him to take a ride
with me in my car. And a wise old bird I found him to be! No hypocrite!
Doing his best to help his fellow-men, but always hep! Never out of a
city till I pulled him up here. Likes the country now. Going to be the
regular preacher in my new town. No more robe-and-umbrella business,
of course. That was my idea. I'm inclined to be a little circusy in
my notions. He stood for it. The scheme helped him to put over what he
couldn't have got away with by ordinary means.”
Vaniman remembered those flashes of worldly wisdom in the Prophet, and
was enlightened. His countenance revealed his thoughts.
“Had you guessing?” demanded the colonel. “Nothing like starting folks
to guessing. Keeps up the interest. One by one Elias snipped the cords
that bound the folks to the soil of this place. Did a fine job. They're
going to thrive after they are transplanted. Even Squire Hexter is going
to bring up the rear guard, after he has finished here with the loose
ends of the law needed in the case.”
“It's to be a clean sweep, Frank,” the Squire affirmed. “Even Usial
and his press; the new town will be in his legislative class.” Then
he looked long at Colonel Wincott, who was rocking on the legs of his
chair.
“I know mighty well what you want to say to me, Squire Hexter,” stated
the object of the regard. “You don't need to say a word, though. I'll do
the saying. Vaniman, you have had a raw deal. But you'll soon be through
the woods. I'm going to have a bank in my new town. You're going to be
the boss of it.”
“Just a moment before you say anything, Frank,” expostulated the Squire
when Vaniman, choking with doubts and gratitude both, attempted to
speak. “I propose to start at once for the shire town. I'll begin with
the county attorney. I'll have your name cleared inside of twenty-four
hours.”
“And don't bother with any Dobbins for that job,” declared the colonel.
“Use my car. My chauffeur is hiding it in the bush a little ways from
here. And now, Vaniman, give me all your attention,” he went on, with
the pride of a successful performer. “I'll tell you what's going to
happen over across the line in my town. It's going to interest you. You
have been a man of affairs and you can grasp what I'm saying.”
But Vaniman did not seem to be grasping even that introduction of the
subject. He had heard hurrying footsteps outside the house.
“You'll never listen to anything that will stir your blood like what I'm
going to tell you of my plans for the future,” insisted the colonel.
But a tremulous voice called: “Frank! Frank!”
Vaniman leaped from his chair and turned his back on the man who
proposed to stir the blood of the listener.
Squire Hexter hurried to Colonel Wincott and whispered information
which caused the master of The Promised Land to elevate his eyebrows
understandingly.
“Great Caesar! Why, sure!” he blurted, and popped up out of his chair.
Following the Squire, he tiptoed to the door and stood on one side when
the notary opened and peeped out.
“Vona!” called the Squire, gently. “The boy is in here. Come!”
She ran past them into the room.
Colonel Wincott ducked out and the Squire followed and closed the door.
He closed it slowly, softly, reverently, and then turned a smiling face
of compassionate understanding toward Xoa and the colonel.