The morning after Aunt Sophy's wedding I slept late, more exhausted by
the excitement of the day than I had been aware of, yet in that dreamy
state of half-wakefulness before sunrise, I was dimly conscious of
hearing the sound of Joe Wrigley's pick and shovel, as he worked at the
unfinished well. I remembered that I must go to the city and arrange
with Marion's agent for the transfer of the property, and also be ready,
in my rôle of Uncle Benny, to receive William Wedder, if he should call
at the _Observer_ office as he had threatened. I was drowsily exulting
in William's discomfiture on finding that I was Uncle Benny, when a loud
shouting from the direction of the barn awakened me; a moment later I
heard hurried clumping footsteps and the sound of hammering at the back
door. My first impression was that the earth had caved in and buried Joe
Wrigley and that he had come to me for help, but when I hurried into a
few essential garments and reached the back door I was relieved to find
that Joe was there; pale, breathless, agitated, but unburied.
"Come quick--_ile_!" he gasped, and lumbered off. I followed.
When I reached the well Peter Waydean was lying prone on his face with
his head hanging over the hole. At the sound of my voice he humped
himself slowly and stood up, looking at me with an expression of utter
misery.
Joe grabbed my arm and pointed to the well. "_Ile_," he repeated, in a
hoarse croak--"smell."
I lay down and smelled; the reeking odor of kerosene oil arose upwards
and I staggered to my feet, stunned by a sudden vision of great wealth.
Peter was the first to speak. "The farm's worth half a million," he said
despairingly, "and I've sold it to that shark for fifty-one hundred."
"What shark?" I forced myself to ask.
"That land shark in the city," he said, turning away with a sudden
stiffening of his frame. "But I'll not be robbed," he shouted, raising
his clenched hand above his head in a fierce gesture--"he hasn't got the
deed yet."
I watched him hurry over the adjoining field, a strange pitying impulse
possessing me to run after him and tell him to take back the farm; then
Joe attracted my attention.
"Jest as I struck that streak of clay," he said, pointing downwards, "I
seen it get soppy like, but I thought it was water, for I took the smell
to be from the ile on my hair, settled into contracted quarters like;
then it began to bubble up faster, an' I scooped up a handful to taste,
an' the next thing I knowed I was up here hollerin' for all I was worth.
Old Peter, he come runnin' over the pasture field, an' I lit out for the
house to call you."
In the well I could see a slight bubbling as the oil ran in, and the
bottom was now covered with several inches of the fluid, which looked
remarkably clear and of such fine quality that I didn't wonder Joe had
mistaken it for water. I told him to stop work and cover the hole with
boards, warning him not to tell anyone of the discovery. I don't know
why I gave him the latter direction, but I had an instinct that it was
the correct thing to do and was an evidence of presence of mind on my
part. Then I went back to the house to break the news to Marion.
In my inmost heart I knew that the wealth was rightfully Peter's, though
I was legally entitled to reap the benefit of the discovery, but
something of the passionate greed that I had seen expressed in his
distorted face stirred my soul, and I went upstairs to tell Marion,
feeling, I imagine, like a fugitive bank cashier. But when I looked into
her clear eyes I knew there was but one right course, and that was to
release Peter from his agreement. Somehow I felt as if I had just
escaped from prison when that was settled; never again do I wish to be
burdened with even the thought of unworked-for riches.
I felt sorry for Peter when I hurried over to his house to tell him he
could take back his farm without going to law. I regret to say that he
did not receive me with open arms or fully appreciate my generosity;
indeed, when I told him that we had employed the land agents to
negotiate with him he declared that he never would have signed the
agreement if he had known, but he became more amiable when he understood
that Marion and I had been bidding against each other.
Now when I act nobly, I like the matter to be distinctly understood;
therefore Peter's attitude was disappointing. There wasn't the slightest
doubt but that he should have been so affected by my action as to thank
me in a voice broken with emotion, begging me at the same time to accept
the office of President of the Waydean Oil Company, and fifty per cent.
of the capital stock. I did not try to make him see it in the proper
light, for that would have been undignified as well as useless, and I
was pressed for time, so I bade him a courteous but frigid good-morning.
I knew better than to seek consolation from Marion by letting her know
that I had expected gratitude, for such a course would have led to the
scornful assertion that I had done nothing for which gratitude should be
expected. So when she asked if he wasn't awfully grateful I answered in
the negative, elevating my eyebrows in surprise. Marion at once asserted
that Peter was a grasping hard-hearted man, and tried to show me how
nobly I had behaved; a point of view that I protested against, with the
result that I was praised to an extent that she has never since
excelled.
It was about ten o'clock when I took the train for the city, and for the
first time I had leisure to think over the astounding discovery of oil.
The short time which had elapsed since I had been awakened by Joe
Wrigley had been so full of action that I had difficulty in persuading
myself that I hadn't been dreaming, and the farther I got from Waydean,
the more incredible appeared the evidence of my senses that I had seen
and smelled oil bubbling up at the bottom of my fifteen-foot well.
The first thing I did when I got to the _Observer_ office was to
consult the encyclopædia in regard to oil-wells. I do not think I ever
received so much mental enlightenment from that useful compendium in
such a short space of time, as during the few minutes I spent over the
article on petroleum. William Wedder was not mentioned, but when I
closed the book with a bang I knew that the ingenious old rogue had not
only carried out his threat of making Peter the laughing-stock of the
county, but had included me also. For a short time I was beside myself
with rage, then an idea leaped into my mind that suggested delightful
possibilities, and I hurried down to the front office to find out if
William had called that morning.
I have been repeatedly questioned about how I spent the time between
lunch and three o'clock, but I have two good reasons for evading a
direct answer; one is, that I do not care to say, the other, that I
cannot, like some people, tell a lie without provocation. Young Evans,
at the Inquiry and Subscription wicket, knew that I told him as I went
out at noon that if a smooth-shaven countrified-looking old man asked
for Uncle Benny he was to be shown up to my room to await my return. Old
Jamieson, the elevator man, knew that I entered by the side door about
three o'clock, and that I was quite astonished to hear that a visible
Uncle Benny had appeared and disappeared during my absence, and that he
had been followed into my room by a smooth-shaven rural-looking old
codger; that after an interval of loud conversation that could be heard
above the rumbling of the presses in the basement, the latter emerged
hastily, clattered down the stairs with something in one hand that
looked like a human scalp, closely pursued by Uncle Benny, who was
excitedly pulling his stovepipe hat down over his ears as he ran, and
stopping as he descended the stairs to replace the huge prunella shoes
that kept dropping off.
But it was Meldrum, the cartoonist, whose room was opposite mine, who
told me most about this strange occurrence. "I thought there was a fire
at first," he said, in relating the affair. "I got into the hall and
saw the most remarkable looking old party sitting at your desk. Hairy as
a gorilla--couldn't see a feature except his nose--smoked goggles--white
hair to his shoulders--white beard down to his belt--long-skirted frock
coat--pants turned up at the bottom, showing his spindle-shanks half
way----"
"_Spindle_-shanks!"
"Yes--regular pipe-stems--and prunella shoes, by Jove!--the kind he wore
in the ark--voice like a polar bear, and deaf as a door-post. Other chap
got completely winded trying to make him hear."
"What was _he_ like?"
"Small, smooth-shaven, pink cheeks, blue eyes. Looked like Shem--voice
away up in G."
"Could you hear what they said?"
Meldrum laughed derisively. "Hear?" he repeated. "_Hear!_ Great Scott!
If the presses hadn't been running some idiot on the street would have
pulled the fire-alarm, sure. When I saw them first Noah had his hand up
to his ear and Shem was yelling into it: 'Will--yum Wed--der!'
"'I see,' growls Noah, 'William was your grandson, and he got married.
Go ahead.'
"'No, no--' shouts Shem, 'that's my _name_. WILL......YUM WED......DER!'
"'You'll have to raise your voice,' says Noah, 'I'm a little hard of
hearing.'
"Then Shem goes at it again, a fifth higher, and Noah catches on and
asks him a lot of questions. Where he came from, what family, how he
happened to leave home. Shem shouts that he isn't a hired man by birth,
and that he left his family because his wife and daughter caught the
whole-wheat-and-nut-food fever and tried to feed him on hygienic
principles, so after building up his strength on unwholesome food for
the summer, he's going back to his family to see if they've come to
their senses."
"Do you mean to say, Meldrum, that you stood out in the hall and
eavesdropped?"
"Eavesdropped! Old Wedder's voice sailed into my room as plainly as if
he had the jim-jams. Come now, Carton, you know more about this thing
than you pretend. He brought your name in several times, and if I'm not
mistaken, he had some good joke on you about your farm. Every little
while I'd hear Noah growl, 'That isn't funny.' At last I heard Shem
fairly yell, '_That_ ain't funny, ain't it?'--then there was a shout
from Noah and a mighty clatter. By the time I got out from behind my
desk and into the hall again, all I could see was the top of Noah's
stovepipe vanishing down the stairway. Jamieson is certain Shem had his
wig. Come now, Carton, make a clean breast of it and tell me who these
old parties were. I always thought you wrote the Uncle Benny papers, but
perhaps I was mistaken."
"Meldrum," I said confidentially, "I'll tell you the honest truth, but I
want you to keep it quiet. William Wedder was my hired man, and he was
determined to see a real Uncle Benny, so to oblige him, I togged myself
out for the part at the theatrical costumer's around the corner. I
didn't expect--ha, ha, ha!--to take you in, though."
I made this explanation with calm sincerity, with child-like frankness,
and I'm sure I don't know what prompted me to cast these pearls of truth
before a fellow-journalist, but I did. What was the result? Meldrum
sniffed at the gems suspiciously, then chuckled, assuring me as he
jocularly slapped my back that he was delighted to know the facts of the
case and that he would respect my confidence.
This is how the rumor originated that the real Uncle Benny was an aged
and talented relative of mine, whom I kept in seclusion to restrain his
bibulous propensities. It was perhaps as well that I was not aware of
this at the time, or I certainly would have been discouraged from the
practice of telling the undiluted truth.