JACK GETS A LIFT
It was about a fortnight after the unsuccessful visit to Farmer
Finkler’s that Jack asked permission to cut practice and go to town.
His mission in Charlemont was the purchase of a straw hat, for the
weather, it now being almost the last of May, had become decidedly
warm and cloth caps were no longer comfortable. Coach Shay gave the
desired permission readily enough and Jack set off at three o’clock.
The town was a good mile and a half by road, and as one didn’t strike
the trolley line until he had traversed the first two-thirds of the
distance, going to town was something of an undertaking on a hot day.
There was a nearer route, but it lay over the hill and through pastures
and by devious ways, and Jack had been over it but once and doubted
his ability to reach Charlemont by that trail. So he struck out down
the road, keeping to the shade where there was any, and wishing that
some one would come along and give him a lift. And so when the sound of
wheels did reach his ears he turned around and viewed the approaching
vehicle anxiously. It proved to be a side-bar buggy, dingy and much
in need of a coat of paint or varnish, occupied by a single person.
Jack congratulated himself and stopped to await it. If the buggy
wasn’t much to boast of, the horse, on the contrary, was a beauty, a
young bay with dark points that came swinging along the dusty road
as though he thoroughly enjoyed every movement of his strong supple
muscles. The driver was a man of middle age, a prosperous farmer from
his appearance. Jack stepped out into the road as the buggy came up and
held up his hand.
“Will you give me a lift, sir, please?” he asked.
The buggy went by and for a moment Jack thought that the occupant had
either not heard or didn’t want to comply with the request. But the
horse was finally pulled up some fifty or sixty feet beyond and the
driver turned and beckoned peremptorily to him. Jack hurried down the
road.
“Where you going?” asked the man. He had a deep, gruff voice and for
the first time Jack noticed that he didn’t seem a particularly amiable
sort of person. He had an iron-gray beard and heavy eyebrows of the
same hue, a long thin nose and steely blue eyes that bored into one
like gimlets. The face was deeply wrinkled and darkly tanned. He wore
black clothes that seemed too loose for even his large and rugged body
and a queer broad-brimmed felt hat of snuff color. Jack, with the man’s
impatient and unfriendly gaze on him, wished that he had not asked for
a ride. But the colt was pawing impatiently and, having made the start,
Jack determined to go on with it.
“I’m going to town, sir,” answered Jack. “I thought if you didn’t mind
I’d like a lift. It’s pretty hot walking; dusty, too.”
“Get in,” said the man gruffly.
Jack climbed to the seat, the driver flicked the reins and the horse
whisked them off down the road.
The man gave all his attention to the horse, which, impatient of the
stop, was inclined to be frisky, and for the first few minutes there
was silence in the buggy. Presently, however, the driver, without
turning his head, put a question.
“You one o’ them Maple Ridge boys?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Huh!”
Silence descended again. They reached the main road and turned eastward
with the trolley track.
“Live in this part o’ the country, do you?”
“No, sir, my home’s in Wichita, Kansas.”
The farmer turned for the first time and viewed Jack with a slight
display of interest.
“Want to know,” he said. “Thought you weren’t quite as smug as those
others.”
Jack was uncertain of the meaning of the word smug, but he decided to
put a complimentary interpretation on it and so smiled pleasantly.
Jack’s smile was hard to resist. The farmer saw it said “Huh” again, a
little less unpleasantly and gave his attention to the horse, which
was showing a tendency to bolt at the approach of a car.
“That’s a mighty pretty horse,” said Jack after quiet was restored. The
farmer nodded.
“Know anything about horses?” he asked.
“Not much, sir. We used to have two or three when I was a kid, but when
my father died we sold them.”
“Father’s dead, eh! Mother still with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Got any brothers or sisters?”
“I’ve got a kid brother about eight and two sisters. One’s three years
older than I and the other’s twelve.”
“How’d you happen to come here to school? Haven’t you got schools out
West?”
“Y-yes, sir, but father came from this part of the country and he
always wanted me to go to school hereabouts.”
“Like it?”
“Very much. The fellows are a fine lot, I think.”
“Fine lot! Fine lot of scallywags!” said the farmer disgustedly.
“Seems like you had some sense, but I guess you’ll be just like the
rest of ’em after you’ve been there awhile. Mean, sneaky lot of young
varmints, I call ’em!”
“I’m sorry you don’t like them, sir,” replied Jack coldly. “Perhaps you
haven’t met the best of them.”
“Met ’em? Only place I ever met ’em was in my apple orchard.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Jack. “You――you’re Mr. Finkler, then?”
“That’s my name. Didn’t you know who I was?”
“No, sir, or I wouldn’t have――――” Jack stopped.
“Wouldn’t have what?” demanded Mr. Finkler. “Wouldn’t have asked me for
a ride, I suppose.”
“No, sir――I mean yes, sir.”
“Huh! Guess you’re the first Maple Ridge boy ever got a lift from me.
And the last, likely. Young rascals!”
“I guess if you’ll stop, sir, I’ll get out,” said Jack.
“Here? Thought you were going to town?”
“I am, but as you don’t like Maple Ridge boys and as I’m one of them I
won’t trouble you any longer, Mr. Finkler.”
The farmer shot a glance at him and flapped the reins lightly. “Huh,”
he grunted, “sort of high an’ mighty, ain’t you? ’D rather walk than
ride with me, eh?”
“I don’t care to stay where I’m not wanted,” replied Jack haughtily.
“Who said you weren’t wanted?” demanded the farmer gruffly. “Guess you
wouldn’t be here if you weren’t wanted. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say, but it’s Jack Borden.”
“Christened Jack, were you?”
“John.”
“Why don’t you call it John then? Ain’t that a good enough name? John
was my father’s name and his father’s name, too; and it’s mine. Good
sensible name, I call it.”
“My mother called me Jack, sir.”
“Oh, she did, eh? Well, mothers have that right, I guess. How you going
to get home?”
“Back to school, do you mean, sir? I guess I’ll walk. I don’t mind,
because it will be cooler by that time, I guess.”
“Going to be in town long?”
“Not very,” replied Jack, undecided whether to be resentful or amused
at the farmer’s questioning. “I’m just going to get a straw hat.”
“What do you want a straw hat for? I never wore one in my life. They’re
hot things.”
Jack glanced at the heavy felt on Farmer Finkler’s head and smiled.
“I don’t find them so, sir.”
“Don’t eh? Well, you be around Worden’s drug store in about half an
hour and I’ll give you a lift back to school; that is, if you aren’t
too high an’ mighty to accept a seat in my humble equipage.”
“I’m not high and mighty at all,” replied Jack with heat. “I’m much
obliged, sir, but I guess I’d rather walk.”
“All right; suit yourself. Thought you were kind of a sensible boy, but
I guess you’re a regular Maple Ridger after all. Where do you want to
get out?”
“This will do, right here, thank you,” replied Jack, as the buggy swung
into Main street, where the stores began. Mr. Finkler pulled the horse
down and drew the buggy in toward the curb. Jack descended.
“I’m very much obliged to you for my ride, Mr. Finkler,” he said
stiffly.
“You are, eh? Well, don’t tell your friends up there to school that I
gave you a lift.”
“Why not, sir?” asked Jack.
“Because,” responded the farmer with a grim smile, “they’d think you
were lying. Huh! Get ap!”
Jack’s shopping took him only about ten minutes. After that, with the
new straw hat on his head and his cap stuffed into his pocket, he
strolled about in front of the stores for awhile, looking in at the
windows and jingling the remaining coins in his possession tentatively.
But he saw nothing that particularly appealed to him and so finally
turned off of Main street and headed back toward Maple Ridge. Perhaps
the thermometer had dropped a degree or two since he had left school,
but the change wasn’t apparent and it was still uncomfortably warm. He
wished he had not quarreled with Farmer Finkler. After all, the latter
had not said nor done anything that Jack need have taken umbrage about.
If the farmer didn’t like the Maple Ridgers, as he called them, and
said so, why, the boys themselves frankly acknowledged that they had
given him plenty of cause for that dislike. There was still time to
retrace his steps to the drug store and save himself a long, hot walk
to school. But after thinking it over Jack decided that he would rather
walk than humble himself to the school’s hereditary enemy. Besides,
there was the chance that some one else would be going his way and
would give him a lift. He looked back in the hope that a trolley car
would appear and help him over the first stage of his journey, but none
was in sight and rather than stand there on the sun-smitten pavement
and wait for one he walked on.
Ten minutes later he was wondering whether, after all, Farmer Finkler
might not be right in his theory regarding straw hats, for the one
on Jack’s head _was_ decidedly hot! He took it off and wiped the
perspiration from the leather band. Then he wiped his forehead. Then he
put the hat on again, tilting it toward the back of his head to relieve
his forehead. So absorbed in these proceedings was he that he didn’t
hear Farmer Finkler until that gentleman had pulled the horse down to a
walk and spoke.
“Nice and cool, ain’t it?” There was a gleam of amusement in the
farmer’s eyes. Jack turned in surprise.
“Not very,” replied Jack, with a smile.
“Whoa!” The farmer stopped his horse. “Climb in,” he said. “I waited
for you awhile at the drug store, but you didn’t come.”
Jack hesitated a moment. Then he swallowed his pride and got into the
buggy. “It’s pretty warm walking,” he murmured apologetically.
“Yep, it’s hot weather for the time o’ year,” Farmer Finkler allowed.
“Good growing weather, though. Hay’s coming along nicely. Guess if we
have a week or two like this I can begin cutting pretty early.”
“I suppose you have a lot of land, sir,” inquired Jack.
“’Bout a hundred and fifteen acres altogether. Most of it’s in grass.
I use a heap o’ feed at my place. Eighteen or twenty head o’ horses
and half a dozen cows eat a lot. Hay and grain’s about the only crop I
raise nowadays.”
Jack was silent a minute, debating. Here was an opportunity to sound
Mr. Finkler on the subject of the land they wanted to get, but whether
it was advisable to mention the matter was a question. In the end he
decided to take the risk.
“I suppose, sir,” he began, “you could get along pretty well with two
or three acres less, couldn’t you?”
“Maybe I could,” replied Mr. Finkler cautiously. “Want to buy a piece,
do you?”
“Yes, sir; at least the school wants to.”
“Huh! Wants a slice o’ my west meadow; I know all about that, young
man! They’ve been wanting it a long time and they’ll keep on wanting
it, I guess.”
“Then you――won’t consider selling a little of it?”
“No, sir! Why should I? Benedict wants me to cut a slice right off
that meadow there so’s his boys can play ball on it. Ball! Huh! I’m
not saying that if he wanted it for a building or something useful I
wouldn’t consider selling to him. I guess I could get on without that
corner of land. But why should I cut up that meadow just so’s a lot of
worthless rascals can throw a ball around over it? Ain’t they got room
enough as it is, I’d like to know?”
“No, sir, that’s just it,” replied Jack quietly. “They haven’t got
nearly room enough. I’d like to explain it to you if you’ll let me.”
“Don’t want to hear it,” grunted the farmer. “It’s all been explained
time and time again.”
“Not very well, then, I guess,” said Jack with some asperity, “or you
wouldn’t persist in saying that we have land enough.”
“Wouldn’t, eh? Well, you explain it, then. Not that it’s going to make
a mite o’ difference, though, young man.”
“Then I don’t see that there’s much use in my wasting my breath,”
answered Jack with a frown. “However, here’s just how it is, Mr.
Finkler. You see, baseball and football and the other games we play on
our field require a certain amount of room. I dare say, sir, you’ve
noticed that on a baseball field the outfielders are pretty well spread
out.”
“Are they? Well, young man, I never saw a game of baseball, but I’ll
take your word for what you say.”
“Didn’t you ever play it when you were a boy?” asked Jack in genuine
surprise.
“No, I never did,” replied the farmer grimly. “I got my exercise
chopping wood or hanging on to the tail end of a plow. Never felt
any desire to chase a ball around a field, neither. Long about eight
o’clock I’d had all the exercise I wanted and I was good and ready for
bed. Go on.”
“Well, what I was saying was that the outfield of a baseball ground has
to be pretty wide. Our field isn’t nearly big enough, sir. If you knock
a foul into right field it goes over your wall and we have to chase
over for it.”
“And knock my wall down while you’re doing it,” added the farmer.
“We don’t mean to, sir.”
“Huh! I suppose you don’t mean to steal my apples! I suppose you didn’t
mean to set fire to my hay cocks!”
“We didn’t do that, Mr. Finkler!” declared Jack earnestly. “I wasn’t
here then, but I’ve heard the fellows say over and over again that they
had nothing to do with it.”
“Lies!”
“No, sir, they’re not lies! Fellows like Ted Warner and Dolph Jones
don’t tell lies!”
“Don’t, eh? Didn’t ever steal my apples I suppose?”
“I think they have done that, sir, but――but swiping a few apples isn’t
exactly stealing――”
“Huh!”
“I mean, Mr. Finkler, boys don’t consider it stealing. It’s a――a sort
of a lark, sir. Why, didn’t you ever steal apples when you were a boy?”
Mr. Finkler turned a somewhat startled look at Jack and quickly
shifted his gaze back to the horse.
“Don’t know as I ever did,” he said cautiously. Adding, after a moment,
“Maybe――once or twice.”
“Well, you didn’t consider it stealing, did you?” demanded Jack
triumphantly.
“Huh! You ought to be a lawyer, young man. So you think those boys
didn’t fire my hay, do you?”
“I’m sure of it, sir,” answered Jack earnestly. “And if you want to
know something, Mr. Finkler, I guess when you accused us of doing that
and refused to believe us when we told you we knew nothing about it
you――you sort of made things worse. I mean that it made the fellows
sort of angry to be accused of such a mean thing, and so they――they
kind of set out to annoy you, I guess.”
“Succeeded, too,” said Mr. Finkler dryly.
“The fellows are willing to promise never to swipe any more apples or
do anything to annoy you, sir, if you’ll let us have that piece of
land. We do need it awfully, Mr. Finkler.”
“Huh!”
“You see, sir, if we had it we’d have a decent baseball field and a
better football field and we could build a running track so that we
wouldn’t always get beaten at the track and field meets.”
“Want to build a road, you mean, through my meadow?”
Jack explained. “And if you didn’t want to sell the land to us
outright, sir, you could lease it for ten years or so. And if you did
that we’d agree to put the land back in just the shape we found it when
the lease ran out. Wouldn’t that be all right?”
“Maybe. Well, here’s where you live. Whoa, Dick!”
“You’ll think it over, won’t you, Mr. Finkler?” asked Jack as he got
out of the buggy. The farmer shook his head.
“Don’t need to,” he answered.
“You mean that you――that you won’t do it?” asked Jack disappointedly.
“Exactly. Tell those friends of yours that they can get all the
exercise they need with a saw and a pile o’ cord wood. And they won’t
need any more land than they’ve got now.”
“I think――you’re a little bit unreasonable,” replied Jack, stifling his
exasperation.
“Do, eh? Well, maybe, maybe. We’re all likely to think that of another
person who won’t do what we want him to.”
“I wish you’d think it over, sir,” said Jack wistfully.
Farmer Finkler gazed thoughtfully between Dick’s ears.
“Don’t know but what I’d be willing to do it if those young rascals
were all like you, boy. But they’ve been making my life miserable for
five or six years and I guess I ain’t ready to cry quits yet. Sometime
when you ain’t got anything better to do you come over and see me and
I’ll show you some good horses. Guess you and me can be friends anyway,
eh!”
“Thank you,” replied Jack stiffly, “but I guess I’ll stand with my
friends, sir. Perhaps some day you’ll find out that we aren’t quite as
bad as you think us. I’m very much obliged for the ride, Mr. Finkler.”
[Illustration: “‘Thank you,’ replied Jack stiffly, ‘but I guess I’ll
stand with my friends, sir.’”]
“Huh!” The farmer touched Dick with the whip and the buggy whisked away
up the road. Jack stood a moment at the gate and looked after it.
“I wonder,” he said to himself, “if I didn’t make a mistake then. Maybe
I’d have done better if I’d stayed friends with him. But he certainly
is――is――exasperating!”