“THE UNGUESSED BEGINNINGS OF TROUBLE.”
About a dozen persons occupied the parlor-car. Neither Philip nor
Gerald paid any attention to them; they were absorbed, first, in
settling themselves, and, next, in the discovery that the station,
Youngwood Manor, at which Mr. Marcy’s friend Hilliard should board
their train, was not to be reached till after one o’clock. They
consulted the letter from him (Philip happened to have brought it in
his pocket), written in a neat, precise, hand――rather an elderly sort
of hand――and felt disposed to like the sender of it, in advance.
But while they talked rather loudly and eagerly, and certainly with
mentioning plenty of names and places, something of much importance to
them suddenly got into progress near them. Let us say it was something
fate had willed that they should not observe. They did not observe it.
O, these big and little decrees in the destinies of boys and men! In
this case it was their failure to be aware of apparently a very simple
matter――the conduct of another passenger.
There sat back to back with Gerald, the tall chair doing its usual
office of a screen, a strikingly handsome and well-dressed man of
about forty years of age, who wore eye-glasses and was running over
the contents of a newspaper when they settled down. Before long this
well-appointed traveler, in changing the position of his chair,
happened to let his eye fall on Gerald’s traveling-bag lying overturned
in the aisle, and painted, as to the bottom, in large black letters
with the name, “Gerald B. Saxton, Jun., New York City.”
A name――only a name! But what mysterious recollections, what quick
impulses, it must have stirred up to vivid life in the mind of that
grave traveler sitting so close to the fair-haired owner of the satchel
and his friend! A slight start, a frown showing itself between his
level eyebrows, a sudden sharpness of attention to the speakers beside
him, and his sinking himself, little by little, down into his chair,
while at the same time he drew the _Herald_ over his face as if in an
after-breakfast doze――these things succeeded one another rapidly in
his conduct, until whoever watched him would have inferred, if with
some surprise, that this man was surely doing every thing in his power
to play the spy upon the two lads near him, and to overhear whatever
they might say, without their even suspecting that they had a neighbor.
Leaning his head against the cushion, well toward the left, he
listened and listened, motionless, without a rustle of that sheltering
newspaper; and often, now, as he so curiously fixed his attention on
their desultory talk and discussion, one of his firm, well-shaped lips
bit the other nervously under his dark mustache, and that frown of
concentration became deeper on his forehead. Strange.
Ah! A letter was lying on the carpet within reach of his hand, between
his chair and Gerald’s. A letter――was it the same letter, he wondered,
that he had just heard them speaking about――from a Mr. Hilliard? It
was, because Gerald had carelessly dropped it from his hand, and
the loss was not yet noticed. It was, indeed, odd and disgracefully
ill-bred that any stranger should carry his curiosity or his interest,
or whatever it was that influenced him, so far as to get possession
of that letter very gently by a single motion of his arm, and, then
raising it noiselessly to his eyes, to read it through behind the boys’
backs. But this unseen companion of theirs did so; and, more than that,
he read it through so carefully that you might have supposed he was
getting it by heart. At length he laid it again on the carpet, just
where he had noticed it, and presently Gerald’s eye caught sight of
it, and with an exclamation the letter was put safely into Philip’s
care once more. The name “Touchtone” written on it, and overheard from
Gerald’s lips, “Philip Touchtone,” seemed to be another singularly
interesting surprise to this reserved traveler.
But all at once he made up his mind to change his position. He did more
than that. He raised himself gracefully in his seat, got possession of
his silk hat, umbrella, and bag, and, rising quickly, walked down the
length of the car he had faced, and vanished in the one coming behind
it. Neither Philip nor Gerald remarked this sudden retreat any more
than they had remarked that he had sat so near them for more than an
hour. They were both in a gale of good humor, and, with Gerald, to
laugh hard was simply to forget every thing else but the fun on hand.
Did it ever occur to you from experience, my friend, young or old, what
a small place is this big world after all? We do nothing, it sometimes
seems, but jog elbows with folk we know or with folk who know us. You
may go to Australia or Crim Tartary to get out of the way of people;
but it may not be a week before you find that neither place is a safe
retreat. I once knew of a man who wished to fly from the face of all
humanity that he happened to be acquainted with; he being, if one must
tell all the truth, very miserable because of an unlucky love-affair,
and anxious not to be reminded of the persons or places that had
been nearest to him before his woes came to a climax. So our friend
forthwith set out for northern Africa, and he decided to cross the
great Sahara country with a caravan. Lo and behold! when the party was
made up that were to go with the traders over the desert, he found that
two cousins of――well, the cause of his gloomy spirits were to meet the
expedition at a certain station, early on the route, both men he knew
being in the same heart-broken state as himself, from the same reason.
That was too much for him. Like a sensible man, he went straight home
to Boston, and took to business energetically, and got back his health
and spirits with his friends much sooner than he could have done in
the Sahara, I am pretty sure. But I am getting away from this story of
Touchtone and Gerald Saxton.
“Youngwood Manor,” called out the guard, suddenly, as they steamed into
a tiny station. The stop was only for an instant. They had hardly time
to put their heads out. Nobody was getting aboard.
“Well, I declare! He couldn’t have come up from New York,” said Gerald,
in disappointment. “I’m sorry. It would be more fun to have him meet us
on the train than for us to go and hunt him up in his own street.”
“Wait a minute or so,” returned Philip. “Mr. Hilliard would have jumped
on the car very quickly, knowing what a short stop the train makes. If
he did, he is looking through it for us this minute.”
The rear door opened. A tall gentleman with a fine face stood looking
along the seats, his satchel in his hand.
His look fell on the boys. He started, gave a half-smile of recognition,
and came slowly toward them.
“It must be he!” exclaimed Gerald.
“No doubt of that!” replied Touchtone. “He’s making straight this way.
Swing round that seat, Gerald. It hasn’t been taken all day, I think.”
“I believe I have the pleasure of finding some travelers I was to
look for,” began the new arrival as he stood before them. “My name is
Hilliard; and this, I presume, is Mr. Philip Touchtone, and this Gerald
Saxton? I’m very happy to meet you both.”
He had a wonderfully pleasant, smooth voice, and his white teeth shone
under his fine mustache as he smiled.
“We were afraid that you had not come out from the city, sir,” said
Gerald, making room.
“O, yes,” replied Mr. Hilliard, with a little laugh. “I――I really
couldn’t stay at home. My friend ―――― that I wrote of expected me.”
He took the offered seat, brushing out of it as he did so a gray linen
button lost from a duster, along with the advertising-page of a
newspaper.
“And now, pray, tell me how you left Mr. ―――― Marcy? His letter said he
was in his usual health.”
“O, yes, sir,” responded Philip, “and busy as ever with the hotel.”
“It has done better this season than last, I understand?”
“Much better, sir. I hated to leave for even these closing weeks.”
“Ah, I dare say,” replied Mr. Hilliard, sympathizingly, “and, by all
accounts, I don’t see how he ever gets along without you. But really
this _is_ a journey you are about making! To Newfoundland is quite――”
“To Halifax, you mean, sir,” Gerald corrected, laughing. “Papa isn’t so
far off as he might be.”
“Certainly, Halifax, I would say,” their new companion said, quickly.
“But it’s a delightful trip, especially if you go by water.”
“Mr. Marcy said that _Old Province_ was a very handsome steamer.”
“She certainly is. By the bye, your father is quite well?” he asked.
“Thank you, yes, sir,” replied Gerald. “He would not let me go to the
camp at first, for fear I should catch something besides fish.”
“I believe you are his only son?” asked Mr. Hilliard, looking into
Gerald’s face, with a fine cordiality.
“I am his only son,” answered Gerald, who already considered Mr.
Hilliard a very agreeable man――such a rich, strong voice, and such
flashing black eyes. “And he is my only father, sir,” he added,
laughing.
Mr. Hilliard joined in it. “I have often heard of him in the city,”
he continued; “in fact, I have seen him occasionally. And now, Mr.
Touchtone, about these traveling arrangements. Do I understand that you
want to leave the city for Halifax by to-morrow’s steamer?”
Philip came out of a brown study. He had been thinking, for one thing,
how different Mr. Hilliard was from what he had (quite without warrant)
supposed he would be.
“O, certainly,” he replied. “You see, Mr. Saxton expects Gerald by
Friday night, and I am taking charge of him――eh, Gerald?――until Mr.
Saxton sends to the Waverly Hotel. Besides, I must return to Mr. Marcy
as soon as I can.”
“Ah, yes, I see,” said Mr. Hilliard, musingly. “Well, we will all get
to town this evening early, I hope, and have a sound sleep; but it
would be pleasant if you joined other friends on the _Old Province_.”
“Perhaps,” answered Gerald; “but you see Philip and I travel by
ourselves, so that, if either of us is very seasick, there will be no
one to laugh. I couldn’t, and he wouldn’t.”
Philip here recollected an unpaid duty. “I want to thank you, Mr.
Hilliard,” he began, “for so kindly taking us in to-night.”
“O, dear, not a bit of trouble,” returned Mr. Hilliard, vivaciously;
“but that brings me to explaining a slight dilemma. A fire broke out
in our house yesterday. I am a homeless character, for the time being,
myself.”
“A fire!” exclaimed both the boys.
“Yes, a fire. You’ve no further use for my note, that I see you have
there? Shall I just tear it up, then? I’m like every body else; I
love to get hold of a letter I’ve written and put it out of the way.”
Glancing at the clean carpet, he dropped the pieces into his pocket.
“You see this fire, luckily, wasn’t in my apartment, but overhead. My
rooms were a good deal upset.”
“Then, of course, you mustn’t try to take us,” Touchtone exclaimed,
wondering that Mr. Hilliard had not entered upon so important an
announcement a little sooner. “We’ll go to the hotel.”
“Not a bit of it, not a bit of it!” protested Mr. Hilliard; “you
mustn’t think of such a thing. I am stopping with a cousin of mine, and
he has abundance of room for us all, and expects us. It’s all settled.”
After considerable discussion only did Philip consent to so unexpected
a change. It disturbed him. Gerald rather enjoyed the odd plan. He
yielded.
“By the bye, Mr. Hilliard,” he said as the train sped forward with a
lengthened shadow, “you said you left New York yesterday. I thought you
expected to come up to Youngwood on Saturday.”
“O, so I did,” returned Mr. Hilliard, in his careless manner; “but――but
I decided to wait, for some business reasons. I should have been very
sorry not to meet you just as I did. Perhaps, if you don’t find
yourselves too tired by the time we finish dinner to-night, we will go
out and look up something that will entertain us.”
The proposal sounded pleasantly. They fell to talking of sights. The
acquaintance advanced rapidly.
After a little time the train paused before a small junction-station
only about thirty miles from the edge of New York city. It did not
go on. They looked out. Men were to be seen about the locomotive.
They left the car with the other travelers and walked up to the
group. Something was wrong with the engine. After some ten minutes of
uncertainty a couple of brakemen furnished the information that the
train must wait for half an hour at least. “We can get her all right
again by that time,” said the engineer. If the passengers chose to do
so they could stretch their legs until the whistle called them.
“We may as well pass the time that way,” laughed Mr. Hilliard. “It is
provoking. We’ll go over and take a look at that railroad hotel they
are altering.”
Gerald caught up the satchel (besides their umbrella, the only baggage
the boys carried); there was a supply of ginger-snaps in that bag.
They walked out of the hot sunshine and sat down in the shade of the
wide veranda of the railroad restaurant, which displayed a very gay
sign, “Lafayette Fox, Proprietor.” Mr. Hilliard gave them a spirited
account of an adventure he had met with while on a sketching tour in
Cuba; and when Gerald suggested that he might entertain himself and
them by making a pencil drawing then and there of the motionless train
and the groups of people gathered near it he assented. “I’ll run over
and get my pencils and a block of paper in my bag. It’ll only take a
minute.” They watched him hurry away――certainly the most obliging man
in the world.
Now, the restaurant was being transformed into the glory of a hotel.
Back of the rear rooms rose the yellow-pine frame of a large wing,
intended to contain, when finished, at least seven or eight good-sized
rooms.
“Let’s go along this piazza,” proposed Philip, as several minutes
elapsed and Mr. Hilliard did not put in his re-appearance. (Mr.
Hilliard, it may be explained, was struggling with the tricky lock of
his satchel, kneeling on the floor of the car.)
“If he comes back he will think we have got tired of his society,” said
Gerald. But presently Philip and he, holding each other’s hands, were
stepping airily from one beam to another of the unplanked floor of the
new building.
“I suppose he hasn’t found what he went for,” conjectured Philip.
“Suppose we climb up that stair yonder. It’s certain to be breezier
overhead. Mr. Hilliard will shout if he can’t find us.”
The blue sky overhead, seen through the open rafters, was an inviting
background. Up the stair Gerald sped, and, once at the top, called out,
“Catch me if you can!” and began scudding along a narrow line of planks
resting on the joists.
“Look out, Gerald!” called Philip, half alarmed, half laughing,
hurrying after. “You will break your neck! Stop that!”
“Hurrah!” was Gerald’s only reply. The light-footed boy dashed on the
length of the addition. A ladder, descending to the floor they had
left, appeared through a square opening. He scrambled down. Philip was
not much behind. The room beneath was the last of the unfinished “L.”
It was also floored over, except where an open trap-door gave entrance
to the cellar.
“Here goes!” cried Gerald, as Philip, laughing, but with outstretched
hand, and anxious to put an end to this acrobatic business, pressed
hard upon him. Down jumped Gerald into the trap. Without an instant’s
hesitation Philip leaped after his charge. Both landed, laughing and
breathless, in the dry new cellar, the only light coming through the
square opening overhead.
“Dear me! Didn’t that take the wind out of me, though?” exclaimed
Gerald, leaning against the wall. “That’s an awfully deep cellar. It
must be eight or nine feet; it jarred me all over!”
At that instant, shrill and unmistakable, the locomotive whistle broke
the current of their thoughts.
“The train, Gerald, the train!” Philip cried, rushing under the open
trap. “It’s ready to go, as sure as you live!”
They sprang for the flooring above. Each appreciated, after the
first leap, that getting out of a cellar was sometimes a work quite
different from getting into it.
“We can’t do it!” Philip gasped out in consternation, with a vain
attempt to draw up Gerald after him with one disengaged hand. Down they
came on the sand together. The whistle uttered its warning again. They
heard distant shouts as of belated passengers. They called for help,
but the restaurant people were in front of their establishment. After a
moment more the hum of the departing train greeted their ears.
“O, Gerald, Gerald, here’s a ladder, all the time!” called Philip,
pulling it down from its hook, over their heads in the deep shadow.
To dash back to the long piazza and so around to the front of the house
was a half moment’s flight. But they gained the place which they had
quitted to gaze open-mouthed on an empty track and at puffs of smoke
beyond the cut. That train was gone indeed, Mr. Hilliard aboard of it.
Two very comfortable-looking and composed people, that could only
be Mr. and Mrs. Lafayette Fox, were standing in sight. The stout
proprietor of the railway restaurant heard the story of their
predicament.
“Well, ye’ll have to stay here just two hours and a half,” said Mr.
Fox. “There aint a train till then. Too bad! Ye’d better telegraph to
your friend that’s gone on ahead of you, so as he’ll know whether to
wait for you at the Jersey City depot or in the New York one or not. I
should think he’d look for a message one place or t’other when he gets
in.”
“Yes, that’s quite likely,” replied Philip; “and he mustn’t think of
waiting there. We’ll go straight to his rooms when we reach town, if
ever we do.”
He sent his dispatches to the two waiting-rooms. He had better send
another one still, he thought; so, not knowing the address of the
hospitable cousin who was to take Mr. Hilliard and themselves under his
roof, he wired a message to Mr. Hilliard’s own apartment, where they
had expected to go. Somebody would send it over. “Accidentally detained
from getting aboard again; please leave new address at old one, or at
place where this is received. Will find you as soon as possible.” So
ran the dispatch.
But scarcely had they sent these three communications, in the hope of
saving their kind host perplexity and fatigue on account of the odd
mishap, than Mrs. Lafayette Fox came running up to Philip, breathless.
Luck was favoring them, surely. There was a fast freight-train rumbling
into the little depot. A cousin of hers, Leander Jenks, was its
conductor; and, railroad rules or no rules, Leander Jenks should take
the pair of them aboard, and so get them to New York, not so much later
than if they had not pursued their trip by way of the cellar. In came
the fast freight. In a twinkling Jenks had consented, and, before they
fairly realized it, the boys were ejaculating their thanks and being
introduced to Leander and hustled aboard a red car, which speedily
began pounding and jolting its brisk way at the end of a very long
train, but at an excellent rate of speed, toward New York. They were
well out of their plight.
“Yes,” said Philip; “and even if we should be late in reaching the
city, or fail to make our connection with Mr. Hilliard, why, we’ll just
go to the Windsor for the night and straighten it all out with him the
next morning.”
“I wonder what he’ll say?” queried Gerald.
“Well, he might advise us to look before we leap another time,” laughed
Philip.
The sun had set and fog was turning into a drizzle as they crossed
the flat, salt meadows west of Bergen Hill and left the draw-bridges
of the sinuous Hackensack behind them. It was well that Philip had
expressly warned Mr. Hilliard not to wait for them in Jersey City, for
he suddenly discovered that the freight of the road did not go to the
same terminus as the passenger trains, and that he and Gerald would
land in New York a good distance up-town. The North River was wrapped
in a thick mist as they made their sluggish passage across; the rain
fell steadily, and Touchtone was glad when they landed and set out for
Mr. Hilliard’s apartment as fast as the only cab they could find might
be made to rattle. “You are pretty well used up, aren’t you?” he said
to Gerald, putting his arm along the tired boy’s shoulder. “Never mind;
we’ll be there safe and sound presently.”
Madison Avenue reached, Philip counted the numbers through the sash.
The cab veered to the gutter. The man leaped down and opened the door.
“Shall I wait, sir?”
“Yes,” replied Philip; “we want an address.”
He hurried up the step of a tall apartment-house, Gerald, in his
renewed excitement, declining to stay behind.
“Will you please give me the address for to-night of Mr. Frederick
Hilliard?” he inquired of the footman who answered his ring. “Has he
been here in course of the evening?”
“Beg your pardon, sir,” replied the man, respectfully. “What did you
ask for, sir?”
“For Mr. Hilliard’s address since the fire.”
“I――I don’t understand, sir. I think Mr. Hilliard is at home, sir.
Second floor, sir. Shall I show you up?”
A door above opened and shut. A short, fat gentleman, slightly bald, of
at least fifty winters, came briskly down, looking forward with a very
friendly curiosity in his eyes. He began smiling cheerfully at them,
and his pleasant face, with a snow-white mustache, grew pleasanter at
each step. In his hand was a telegram envelope.
“Mr. Hilliard,” said the man, stepping aside.
“Aha, boys!” he exclaimed, hurrying across the thick Turkish rug and
presenting a fat, white hand, “here you are, I declare, safe and sound!
You sent me this message here, which somebody has taken the trouble
to mix up on the way, so that I can’t get the hang of it, though
otherwise I should have given you up. Come in, come right in!” he went
on, cordially clasping a hand of each. “This is Philip Touchtone, and
this Gerald, according to friend Marcy’s description. You’re both
very welcome. My, what’s the matter? O, your cab! Cripps, pay the
cab――here――and, Cripps, tell Barney to call at ten to-morrow morning to
take us to that Halifax boat.”
Literally open-mouthed in bewilderment, Philip and Gerald allowed the
hospitable little gentleman do as he pleased, and to stand pumping
their hands up and down.
“Excuse me, sir,” Philip began, stammering, “but――but there is
certainly some mistake. You are surely not the gentleman we met on the
train to-day――and――”
“Train? Of course not!” laughed the irrepressible stranger. “I’ve been
laid up in the house with malaria since I wrote Marcy. But you’re
_you_, Philip Touchtone; and _you_ are Gerald Saxton; and _I_ am
myself, Frederick Hilliard, the only and actual, at your service. If
any body has been playing me, he’s some oddity――doing a poor copy of
an indifferent original. My dear boy, you stare at me as if I were a
ghost!”
A cloud was eddying in Philip’s head. Not till afterward did he think
how droll his question must have sounded. But he asked, very solemnly,
“Has there――been a fire――in this building?”
“A fire? In such a hot September as this!” chuckled the merry
gentleman. “Bless your heart, my dear fellow, nowhere but in the
kitchen, I trust! Does the hall strike you as damp? Don’t know but
what it is. Bring those things up-stairs, George,” he added to his own
servant, who appeared from above. “Follow me, boys. My rooms are on the
second floor. How did you leave Miss Beauchamp? and how are Mr. Fisher
and old General Sawtelle and Mr. Lorraine?”
There was no other explanation needed just now. There were two Mr.
Hilliards! One was the real one――before them. Philip felt that at once.
The other had been a sham one, a somebody else――an impostor! Who was
he, and what could he have wanted by so unaccountable a trick? Or was
there, behind his conduct, more than a trick?