THE CONFIDENCE MAN
"All aboard!"
Frank fancied that he had never listened to a more cheery command than this
given as the Western Express rolled out of the depot at Tipton.
It was beautiful weather, a glorious day that would put life and sunshine
into an invalid, let alone a lively, happy boy escaping from what he
considered thralldom, believing that all the joys of life were awaiting him
at the end of his trip.
Frank's aunt actually smiled and waved the lad a gracious adieu from the
depot platform. She had been quite gentle and kind to him the few hours
preceding his departure. She had put up a generous lunch for him, and had
even unbent so far as to declare that she had believed from the first that
he knew nothing about the missing diamond bracelet. All this, however, had
been the preface to a dozen brief lectures on thorny ways and the dark
pitfalls of life. Frank was genuinely glad to escape from the gloomy
influence Miss Brown cast on everything bright and happy about her.
At another part of the platform was Mace, the jeweler. He had a sullen
frown on his face, and he fixed his glance on Frank as though his eyes were
boring him through and through to discover the missing diamond bracelet.
The wrecking of old Dobbins' house had remained a mystery. Some thought the
rope had been cut, while others were of the opinion that it had broken
because of the heavy strain put upon it.
"Good--we're off!" jubilated Frank, as he waved a last adieu to his aunt
through the open car window, and Tipton faded away in the distance. Then he
settled down in his comfortable seat to enjoy the all-day ride to Bellwood.
Miss Brown had doled out twenty-five cents at the depot news-stand for a
book full of jokes and funny pictures. Frank soon exhausted this literary
fund. Then he bought some oranges from the train boy and had a lively chat
with him. He bought a daily paper and read it through and through, and by
noon the trip began to get a trifle monotonous.
It was about one o'clock when the train arrived at a junction, where there
was a stop for half an hour. Frank was glad to walk about and stretch his
limbs. When leaving time came and he returned to the train he became
interested in studying two passengers.
A husky, farmer-looking man had entered the coach, followed by a
stocky-built lad about the age of Frank. The latter bore the appearance
of a boy sullen and unhappy over some circumstance. Frank thought he had
never seen a more dissatisfied face than that of this lad. He shuffled
along after the farmer in an ungracious fashion, and taking the first
empty seat flopped into it unceremoniously.
"All right," said his companion. "You're probably better by yourself when
you're in one of your tantrums. Just see if you can't get some of your
natural meanness out of you while looking at the beauties of nature along
the route."
The boy hunched up his shoulders contemptuously without saying a word in
reply, while the farmer selected a seat across the aisle and directly in
front of Frank. He occupied himself looking over a weekly farm paper. After
a while Frank crossed over to the seat occupied by the boy who had
accompanied the farmer.
"Going far?" inquired Frank in a friendly tone.
The lad did not move to make room for him in the seat. He turned a sullen
face on Frank. There was dark suspicion and open animosity in his eyes.
"Far enough," he muttered.
"It's pleasant weather, isn't it?" propounded Frank, bound to be
companionable.
"Say," said the boy, staring pugnaciously at our hero, "trying to pick on
me, are you?"
"Why," answered the astonished Frank, "I never dreamed of such a thing."
"Yes, you did! Lemme alone!"
"All right," returned Frank pleasantly. "Only here's an orange and a funny
book I want you to enjoy," and he placed the articles in question beside
the boy and stepped back to his own seat.
As he did so he met the big round face of the farmer on a broad grin. The
latter turned around and accosted him.
"Not very sociable, hey?" he remarked.
"Oh, I probably seem strange to him," observed Frank.
"He's that way all along," declared the farmer. "If he is my son, I say
it."
"You are his father, then?"
"The only one he's got," replied the farmer. "You see, I married his
mother. She's dead, now. That boy always was a sulky, ugly varmint. Why,
he'd ought to be the happiest critter in Christendom. He's got eight
step-brothers and step-sisters. Won't jibe, though. He's just unnateral,
that fellow is. No living at home with him, so I'm taking his to a
boarding-school."
"Maybe he doesn't feel well all the time," suggested Frank gently.
"What, that big, husky boy? Why, he's strong as an ox. No, sir-ree, nateral
depravity, I say. I tried to whip it out of him. It did him no good."
"I shouldn't think it would," decided Frank mentally, and then the
conversation dropped and the man returned to his paper.
Frank felt sorry for the grumpy, sad-looking boy across the aisle. His own
loveless experience with his aunt at Tipton gave him some reason for this.
The boy was worse off than he was, though, for Frank had kind-hearted,
affectionate parents, while the farmer boy was motherless. The latter had
eaten half of the orange and was quite engrossed in the book given him.
Frank was about to start another effort to make friends, when the train
came to a station and a passenger came aboard who diverted his interest.
The newcomer was a tall, dark man of middle age. He had a very solemn face
and wore a black tie and choker and clothes that suggested mourning.
There were plenty of vacant seats, but after a sharp look about the coach
this new passenger came to where the farmer sat.
"Seat engaged, sir?" he inquired in a polite, ingratiating way.
"No, sure not," responded the farmer heartily. "Sit down. Glad to have
company."
"I fear I shall not be very good company," observed the new passenger with
a dismal sigh.
"How's that, sir?" questioned the farmer curiously.
"I'm going to a funeral."
"Ah! Nigh relative?"
"Yes; a brother."
"Too bad," commiserated the farmer. "Lost my own brother last year. Bill
was a hustling chap. Missed him dreadfully last plowing season."
"My brother lives at Jayville," explained the man, naming a station two
stops ahead.
"Jayville, eh?" repeated the farmer. "Been there. Went to the bank there
once to sell a mortgage."
"Indeed. An uncle of mine is an official of the bank."
"Is that so, now?" said the farmer. "There's the mayor, there, too; sort of
a distant relative of my first wife. Don't know him, do you?"
Frank interestedly watched the stranger deftly draw from a side pocket a
book. It seemed to be some kind of a country directory. Without attracting
the attention of his companion, the stranger glanced over its pages,
meantime suspending conversation by pretending to have a violent fit of
coughing.
"The mayor," he said finally. "You mean Mr. David Norris?"
"That's him!" exclaimed the farmer.
"Oh, yes, I know him. He is a cousin of mine."
"Is that so? Shake!" said the farmer. "Why, we're quite acquainted, hain't
we? Almost relatives, hey?"
"Well!" muttered Frank under his breath. "This is getting interesting. Sure
as sugar, that fellow is a confidence man."