The next morning found Jed heavy-eyed and without appetite, going
through the form of preparing breakfast. All night, with the
exception of an hour or two, he had tossed on his bed alternately
fearing the worst and telling himself that his fears were
groundless. Of course Charlie Phillips had not stolen the four
hundred dollars. Had not he, Jed Winslow, loudly proclaimed to
Ruth Armstrong that he knew her brother to be a fine young man, one
who had been imprudent, it is true, but much more sinned against
than sinning and who would henceforth, so he was willing to swear,
be absolutely upright and honest? Of course the fact that a sum of
money was missing from the Orham National Bank, where Phillips was
employed, did not necessarily imply that the latter had taken it.
Not necessarily, that was true; but Charlie had, in Jed's presence,
expressed himself as needing money, a sum approximately that which
was missing; and he had added that he would do almost anything to
get it. And--there was no use telling oneself that the fact had no
bearing on the case, because it would bear heavily with any
unprejudiced person--Charlie's record was against him. Jed loyally
told himself over and over again that the boy was innocent, he KNEW
he was innocent. But-- The dreadful "but" came back again and
again to torment him.
All that day he went about in an alternate state of dread and hope.
Hope that the missing four hundred might be found, dread of--many
possibilities. Twice he stopped at the bank to ask Captain Sam
concerning it. The second time the captain was a trifle impatient.
"Gracious king, Jed," he snapped. "What's the matter with you?
'Tain't a million. This institution'll probably keep afloat even
if it never turns up. And 'twill turn up sooner or later; it's
bound to. There's a chance that I left it at old Sage's. Soon's
the old cuss gets back and I can catch him by telephone I'll find
out. Meanwhile I ain't worryin' and I don't know why you should.
The main thing is not to let anybody know anything's missin'. Once
let the news get out 'twill grow to a hundred thousand afore night.
There'll be a run on us if Gab Bearse or Melissa Busteed get goin'
with their throttles open. So don't you whisper a word to anybody,
Jed. We'll find it pretty soon."
And Jed did not whisper a word. But he anxiously watched the
inmates of the little house, watched Charles' face when he came
home after working hours, watched the face of his sister as she
went forth on a marketing expedition, even scrutinized Babbie's
laughing countenance as she came dancing into the shop, swinging
Petunia by one arm. And it was from Babbie he first learned that,
in spite of all Captain Hunniwell's precautions, some one had
dropped a hint. It may as well be recorded here that the identity
of that some one was never clearly established. There were
suspicions, centering about the bank messenger, but he stoutly
denied having told a living soul.
Barbara, who was on her way home from school, and had rescued the
long-suffering Petunia from the front fence where she had been left
suspended on a picket to await her parent's return, was bubbling
over with news and giggles.
"Oh, Uncle Jed," she demanded, jumping up to perch panting upon a
stack of the front elevations of birdhouses, "isn't Mr. Gabe Bearse
awfully funny?"
Jed sighed. "Yes," he said, "Gabe's as funny as a jumpin'
toothache."
The young lady regarded him doubtfully. "I see," she said, after a
moment, "you're joking again. I wish you'd tell me when you're
going to do it, so Petunia and I would know for sure."
"All right, I'll try not to forget to remember. But how did you
guess I was jokin' this time?"
"'Cause you just had to be. A jumping toothache isn't funny. I
had one once and it made me almost sick."
"Um-hm. W-e-e-ll, Gabe Bearse makes 'most everybody sick. What
set you thinkin' about him?"
"'Cause I just met him on the way home and he acted so funny.
First he gave me a stick of candy."
Mr. Winslow leaned back in his chair.
"What?" he cried. "He gave you a stick of candy? GAVE it to you?"
"Yes. He said: 'Here, little girl, don't you like candy?' And
when I said I did he gave me a stick, the striped peppermint kind
it was. I'd have saved a bite for you, Uncle Jed, only I and the
rest ate it all before I remembered. I'm awfully sorry."
"That's all right. Striped candy don't agree with me very well,
anyway; I'm liable to swallow the stripes crossways, I guess
likely. But tell me, did Gabe look wild or out of his head when he
gave it to you?"
"Why, no. He just looked--oh--oh, you know, Uncle Jed--MYSter'ous--
that's how he looked, MYSter'ous."
"Hum! Well, I'm glad to know he wan't crazy. I've known him a
good many years and this is the first time I ever knew him to GIVE
anybody anything worth while. When I went to school with him he
gave me the measles, I remember, but even then they was only
imitation--the German kind. And now he's givin' away candy: Tut,
tut! No wonder he looked--what was it?--mysterious. . . . Hum. . . .
Well, he wanted somethin' for it, didn't he? What was it?"
"Why, he just wanted to know if I'd heard Uncle Charlie say
anything about a lot of money being gone up to the bank. He said
he had heard it was ever and ever so much--a hundred hundred
dollars--or a thousand dollars, or something--I don't precactly
remember, but it was a great, big lot. And he wanted to know if
Uncle Charlie had said how much it was and what had become of it
and--and everything. When I said Uncle Charlie hadn't said a word
he looked so sort of disappointed and funny that it made me laugh."
It did not make Jed laugh. The thought that the knowledge of the
missing money had leaked out and was being industriously spread
abroad by Bearse and his like was very disquieting. He watched
Phillips more closely than before. He watched Ruth, and, before
another day had passed, he had devised a wonderful plan, a plan to
be carried out in case of alarming eventualities.
On the afternoon of the third day he sat before his workbench, his
knee clasped between his hands, his foot swinging, and his thoughts
busy with the situation in all its alarming phases. It had been
bad enough before this new development, bad enough when the always
present danger of Phillips' secret being discovered had become
complicated by his falling in love with his employer's daughter.
But now-- Suppose the boy had stolen the money? Suppose he was
being blackmailed by some one whom he must pay or face exposure?
Jed had read of such things; they happened often enough in novels.
He did not hear the door of the outer shop open. A month or more
ago he had removed the bell from the door. His excuse for so doing
had been characteristic.
"I can't stand the wear and tear on my morals," he told Ruth. "I
ain't sold anything, except through the mail, since the winter
really set in. And yet every time that bell rings I find myself
jumpin' up and runnin' to wait on a customer. When it turns out to
be Gabe Bearse or somebody like him I swear, and swearin' to me is
like whiskey to some folks--comfortin' but demoralizin'."
So the bell having been removed, Jed did not hear the person who
came into and through the outer shop. The first sign of that
person's presence which reached his ears was an unpleasant chuckle.
He turned, to see Mr. Phineas Babbitt standing in the doorway of
the inner room. And--this was the most annoying and disturbing
fact connected with the sight--the hardware dealer was not
scowling, he was laughing. The Winslow foot fell to the floor with
a thump and its owner sat up straight.
"He, he, he!" chuckled Phineas. Jed regarded him silently.
Babbitt's chuckle subsided into a grin. Then he spoke.
"Well," he observed, with sarcastic politeness, "how's the great
Shavin's Jedidah, the famous inventor of whirlagigs? He, he, he!"
Jed slowly shook his head. "Phin," he said, "either you wear
rubbers or I'm gettin' deaf, one or the other. How in the world
did you get in here this time without my hearin' you?"
Phineas ignored the question. He asked one of his own. "How's the
only original high and mighty patriot this afternoon?" he sneered.
The Winslow hand caressed the Winslow chin.
"If you mean me, Phin," drawled Jed, "I'm able to sit up and take
nourishment, thank you. I judge you must be kind of ailin',
though. Take a seat, won't you?"
"No, I won't. I've got other fish to fry, bigger fish than you, at
that"
"Um-hm. Well, they wouldn't have to be sperm whales to beat me,
Phin. Be kind of hard to fry 'em if they was too big, wouldn't
it?"
"They're goin' to fry, you hear me. Yes, and they're goin' to
sizzle. He, he, he!"
Mr. Winslow sadly shook his head. "You must be awful sick, Phin,"
he drawled. "That's the third or fourth time you've laughed since
you came in here."
His visitor stopped chuckling and scowled instead. Jed beamed
gratification.
"That's it," he said. "Now you look more natural. Feelin' a
little better . . . eh?"
The Babbitt chin beard bristled. Its wearer leaned forward.
"Shut up," he commanded. "I ain't takin' any of your sass this
afternoon, Shavin's, and I ain't cal'latin' to waste much time on
you, neither. You know where I'm bound now? Well, I'm bound up to
the Orham National Bank to call on my dear friend Sam Hunniwell.
He, he, he! I've got a little bit of news for him. He's in
trouble, they tell me, and I want to help him out. . . . Blast
him!"
This time Jed made no reply; but he, too, leaned forward and his
gaze was fixed upon the hardware dealer's face. There was an
expression upon his own face which, when Phineas saw it, caused the
latter to chuckle once more.
"He, he!" he laughed. "What's the matter, Shavin's? You look kind
of scared about somethin'. 'Tain't possible you've known all along
what I've just found out? I wonder if you have. Have you?"
Still Jed was silent. Babbit grunted.
"It don't make any difference whether you have or not," he said.
"But if you ain't I wonder what makes you look so scared. There's
nothin' to be scared about, as I see. I'm just cal'latin' to do
our dear old chummie, Cap'n Sam, a kindness, that's all. He's lost
some money up there to the bank, I understand. Some says it's four
thousand dollars and some says it's forty. It don't make any
difference, that part don't. Whatever 'tis it's missin' and I'm
going to tell him where to find it. That's real good of me, ain't
it? Ain't it, Shavin's; eh?"
The little man's malignant spite and evident triumph were actually
frightening. And it was quite evident that Jed was frightened.
Yet he made an effort not to appear so.
"Yes," he agreed. "Yes, yes, seems 's if 'twas. Er--er-- Where
is it, Phin?"
Phineas burst out laughing. "'Where is it, Phin?'" he repeated,
mockingly. "By godfreys mighty, I believe you do know where 'tis,
Shavin's! You ain't gettin' any of it, are you? You ain't
dividin' up with the blasted jailbird?"
Jed was very pale. His voice shook as he essayed to speak.
"Wh-what jailbird?" he faltered. "What do you mean? What--what
are you talkin' about, Phin?"
"'What are you talkin' about, Phin?' God sakes, hear him, will
you! All right, I'll tell you what I'm talkin' about. I'm talkin'
about Sam Hunniwell's pet, his new bookkeeper up there to the bank.
I'm talkin' about that stuck-up, thievin' hypocrite of a Charlie
Phillips, that's who I'm talkin' about. I called him a jailbird,
didn't I? Well, he is. He's served his term in the Connecticut
State's prison for stealin'. And I know it."
Jed groaned aloud. Here it was at last. The single hair had
parted and the sword had fallen. And now, of all times, now! He
made a pitiful attempt at denial.
"It ain't so," he protested.
"Oh, yes, it is so. Six or eight weeks ago--in January 'twas--
there was a drummer in my store sellin' a line of tools and he was
lookin' out of the window when this Phillips cuss went by with Maud
Hunniwell, both of 'em struttin' along as if common folks, honest
folks, was dirt under their feet. And when this drummer see 'em he
swore right out loud. 'Why,' says he, 'that's Charlie Phillips, of
Middleford, ain't it?' 'His name's Phillips and he comes from
Connecticut somewheres,' says I. 'I thought he was in state's
prison,' says he. 'What do you mean?' says I. And then he told
me. 'By godfreys,' says I, 'if you can fix it so's I can prove
that's true I'll give you the biggest order you ever got in this
store.' ''Twon't be any trouble to prove it,' says he. 'All
you've got to do is look up his record in Middleford.' And I've
looked it up. Yes, sir-ee, I've looked it up. Ho, ho!"
Jed, white and shaking, made one more attempt.
"It's all a lie," he cried. "Of course it is. Besides, if you
knew so much why have you been waitin' all this time before you
told it? If you found out all this--this pack of rubbish in
January why did you wait till March before you told it? Humph!
That's pretty thin, I--"
Phineas interrupted.
"Shut up!" he ordered. "Why did I wait? Well, now, Shavin's,
seein' it's you and I love you so, I'll tell you. At first I was
for runnin' right out in the street and hollerin' to all hands to
come and hear the good news about Sam Hunniwell's pet. And then
thinks I: 'Hold on! don't be in any hurry. There's time enough.
Just wait and see what happens. A crook that steals once is liable
to try it again. Let's wait and see.' And I waited, and-- He,
he, he!--he has tried it again. Eh, Shavin's?"
Jed was speechless. Babbitt, looking like a triumphantly vicious
Bantam rooster, crowed on.
"You don't seem to be quite so sassy and talky as you was when I
first came in, Shavin's," he sneered. "Guess likely YOU ain't
feelin' well now . . . eh? Do you remember what I told you last
time I was in this shop? I told you I'd pay my debts to you and
Sam Hunniwell if I waited fifty year. Well, here's Hunniwell's pay
comin' to him now. He's praised that Phillips thief from one end
of Ostable county to the other, told how smart he was and how
honest and good he was till--Lord A'mighty, it's enough to turn a
decent man's stomach! And not only that, but here's the feller
courtin' his daughter. Oh, ho, ho, ho! that's the best of the
whole business. That was another thing made me hang off and wait;
I wanted to see how the courtin' came along. And it's come along
all right. Everybody's onto 'em, hangin' over each other, and
lookin' soft at each other. She's just fairly heavin' herself at
his head, all hands says so. There ain't been anybody in this town
good enough for her till he showed up. And now it's comin' out
that he's a crook and a jailbird! And he'll be jailed for stealin'
THIS time, too. Ho, ho!"
He stopped, out of breath, to indulge in another long chuckle. Jed
leaned forward.
"What are you talkin' about, Phin?" he demanded. "Even allowin'
all this--this rigmarole of yours about--about Middleford business--
was true--"
"It is true and you know it is. I believe you've known it all
along."
"I say allowin' it is, you haven't any right to say Charlie took
this money from the Orham bank. You can't prove any such thing."
"Aw, be still! Prove--prove nothin'. When a cat and a sasser of
milk's shut up together and the milk's gone, you don't need proof
to know where it's gone, do you? Don't talk to me about proof, Jed
Winslow. Put a thief alongside of money and anybody knows what'll
happen. Why, YOU know what's happened yourself. You know darn
well Charlie Phillips has stole the money that's gone from the
bank. Down inside you you're sartin sure of it; and I don't want
any better proof of THAT than just your face, Shavin's."
This time Jed did not attempt to contradict. Instead he tried a
new hazard.
"Phin," he pleaded, "don't be too hard. Just think of what'll
happen if you come out with that--that wild-goose yarn of yours.
Think of Maud, poor girl. You haven't got anything against her,
have you?"
"Yes, I have. She's stuck-up and nose in the air and looks at me
as if I was some sort of--of a bug she wouldn't want to step on for
fear of mussin' up her shoes. I never did like her, blast her.
But leavin' that all to one side, she's Sam Hunniwell's young-one
and that's enough for me."
"But she's his only child, Phin."
"Good enough! I had a boy; he was an only child, too, you'll
remember. Where is he now? Out somewheres where he don't belong,
fightin' and bein' killed to help Wall Street get rich. And who
sent him there? Why, Sam Hunniwell and his gang. You're one of
'em, Jed Winslow. To hell with you, every one of you, daughters
and all hands."
"But, Phin--just a minute. Think of what it'll mean to Charlie,
poor young feller. It'll mean--"
"It'll mean ten years this time, and a good job, too. You poor
fool, do you think you can talk me out of this? You, you sawdust-
head? What do you think I came into your hole here for? I came
here so's you'd know what I was goin' to do to your precious chums.
I wanted to tell you and have the fun of watchin' you squirm.
Well, I'm havin' the fun, plenty of it. Squirm, you Wall Street
bloodsucker, squirm."
He fairly stood on tiptoe to scream the last command. To a
disinterested observer the scene might have had some elements of
farce comedy. Certainly Phineas, his hat fallen off and under
foot, his scanty gray hair tousled and his pugnacious chin beard
bristling, was funny to look at. And the idea of calling Jed
Winslow a "Wall Street bloodsucker" was the cream of burlesque.
But to Jed himself it was all tragedy, deep and dreadful. He made
one more desperate plea.
"But, Phin," he begged, "think of his--his sister, Charlie's
sister. What'll become of her and--and her little girl?"
Phineas snorted. "His sister," he sneered. "All right, I'll think
about her all right. She's another stuck-up that don't speak to
common folks. Who knows anything about her any more'n they did
about him? Better look up her record, I guess. The boy's turned
out to be a thief; maybe the sister'll turn out to be--"
"Stop! Be still!"
Jed actually shouted it. Babbitt stopped, principally because the
suddenness of the interruption had startled him into doing so. But
the pause was only momentary. He stared at the interrupter in
enraged amazement for an instant and then demanded: "Stop? Who are
you tellin' to stop?"
"You."
"I want to know! Well, I'll stop when I get good and ready and if
you don't like it, Shavin's, you can lump it. That Phillips kid
has turned out to be a thief and, so far as anybody 'round here
knows, his sister may be--"
"Stop!" Again Jed shouted it; and this time he rose to his feet.
Phineas glared at him.
"Humph!" he grunted. "You'll make me stop, I presume likely."
"Yes."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it's got to be so. Look here, Phin, I realize you're mad and
don't care much what you say, but there's a limit, you know. It's
bad enough to hear you call poor Charlie names, but when you start
in on Ruth--on Mrs. Armstrong, I mean--that's too much. You've got
to stop."
This speech was made quietly and with all the customary Winslow
deliberation and apparent calm, but there was one little slip in it
and that slip Babbitt was quick to notice.
"Oh, my!" he sneered. "Ruth's what we call her, eh? Ruth! Got so
chummy we call each other by our first names. Ruthie and Jeddie, I
presume likely. Aw, haw, haw!"
Jed's pallor was, for the moment, succeeded by a vivid crimson. He
stammered. Phineas burst into another scornful laugh.
"Haw, haw, haw!" he crowed. "She lets him call her Ruth. Oh, my
Lord A'mighty! Let's Shavin's Winslow call her that. Well, I
guess I sized her up all right. She must be about on her brother's
level. A thief and--"
"Shut up, Phin!"
"Shut up? YOU tell me to shut up!"
"Yes."
"Well, I won't. Ruth Armstrong! What do I care for--"
The speech was not finished. Jed had taken one long stride to
where Babbitt was standing, seized the furious little creature by
the right arm with one hand and with the other covered his open
mouth, covered not only the mouth, but a large section of face as
well.
"You keep quiet, Phin," he drawled. "I want to think."
Phineas struggled frantically. He managed to get one corner of his
mouth from behind that mammoth hand.
"Ruth Armstrong!" he screamed. "Ruth Armstrong is--"
The yell died away to a gurgle, pinched short by the Winslow
fingers. Then the door leading to the kitchen, the door behind the
pair, opened and Ruth Armstrong herself came in. She was pale and
she stared with frightened eyes at the little man struggling in the
tall one's clutch.
"Oh, Jed," she breathed, "what is it?"
Jed did not reply. Phineas could not.
"Oh, Jed, what is it?" repeated Ruth. "I heard him shouting my
name. I was in the yard and I heard it. . . . Oh, Jed, what IS
it?"
Babbitt at last managed to wriggle partially clear. He was crazy
with rage, but he was not frightened. Fear of physical violence
was not in his make-up; he was no coward.
"I'll tell you what it is," he screamed. "I'll tell you what it
is: I've found out about you and that stuck-up crook of a brother
of yours. He's a thief. That's what he is, a thief and a
jailbird. He stole at Middleford and now he's stole again here.
And Jed Winslow and you are--"
He got no further, being once more stoppered like a bottle by the
Winslow grip and the Winslow hand. He wriggled and fought, but he
was pinned and helpless, hands, feet and vocal organs. Jed did not
so much as look at him; he looked only at Ruth.
Her pallor had increased. She was trembling.
"Oh, Jed," she cried, "what does he mean? What does he mean by--by
'again--here'?"
Jed's grip tightened over his captive's mouth.
"He doesn't mean anything," he declared, stoutly. "He don't know
what he means."
From behind the smothering fingers came a defiant mumble. Ruth
leaned forward.
"Jed," she begged, "does he--does he know about--about--"
Jed nodded. She closed her eyes and swayed slightly, but she did
not collapse or give way.
"And he is going to tell?" she whispered.
A furious mumble from behind the fingers and a venomous flash from
the Babbitt eyes were answers sufficient.
"Oh, Jed," she pleaded, "what SHALL we do?"
For the instant a bit of the old Jed came to the surface. His lip
twitched grimly as he looked down at the crimson face above his own
hand.
"I ain't sartin--yet," he drawled. "How do you start in killin'
a--a snappin' turtle? I ain't tackled the job since I was a boy."
Phineas looked as if he could have furnished some points on the
subject. His eyes were bulging. Then all three heard the door of
the outer shop open.
Ruth looked desperately about her. She hastened to the door by
which she had entered. "There's some one coming," she whispered.
Jed glanced over his shoulder. "You go away," he whispered in
reply. "Go away, Ruth. Hurry!"
Her hand was on the latch of the door, but before she could open it
the other door, that leading from the outer shop, opened and
Leonard Grover came in. He stared at the picture before him--at
Ruth Armstrong's pale, frightened face, at Babbitt struggling in
his captor's clutch, at Jed.
"Why!" he exclaimed. "What is it?"
No one answered. Phineas was the only one who stirred. He seemed
anxious to turn the tableau into a moving picture, but his success
was limited. The Major turned to Ruth.
"What is it?" he asked again.
She was silent. Grover repeated his question, addressing Jed this
time.
"Well?" he asked, sharply. "What is the trouble here? What has
that fellow been doing?"
Jed looked down at his wriggling captive. "He's--he's--" he
stammered. "Well, you see, Major, he . . . Hum . . . well, I'm
afraid I can't tell you."
"You can't tell me! What on earth-- Mrs. Armstrong, will you tell
me?"
She looked at him appealingly, pitifully, but she shook her head.
"I--I can't," she said.
He looked from one to the other. Then, with a shrug, he turned to
the door.
"Pardon me for interrupting," he observed. "Good afternoon."
It was Ruth who detained him. "Oh, please!" she cried, involuntarily.
He turned again.
"You wish me to stay?" he asked.
"Oh--oh, I don't know. I--"
She had not finished the sentence; she was falteringly trying to
finish it when Mr. Babbitt took the center of the stage. Once more
he managed to free himself from Jed's grip and this time he darted
across the shop and put the workbench between himself and his enemy.
"I'll tell you what it is," he screamed. "I've found out some
things they don't want anybody to know, that's what. I've found
out what sort of folks they are, she and her brother. He's a
common-- Let go of me! By--"
The scream ended in another mumble. Jed had swarmed over the bench
and once more pinned him fast.
"You'll have to excuse me, Major," he panted. "I--I can't help it.
This feller's got what ailed the parrot--he talks too darn much.
He's got to stop! He's GOT to!"
But Grover was paying little attention. He was looking at Ruth.
"Mrs. Armstrong," he asked, "has he been saying--saying things he
should not say about you? Is that the trouble?"
She answered without returning his look.
"Yes," she said, almost in a whisper. "About me and--and my--
Yes, that was it."
The Major's eyes flashed. "Let go of him, Jed," he commanded. Jed
hesitated.
"If I do he'll blow up again," he said.
"Let go of him."
Jed let go. Phineas caught his breath and opened his mouth. Major
Grover stepped in front of him and leveled a forefinger straight at
the crimson Babbitt nose.
"Stop!" he ordered, sharply.
"Stop? What right have you got to tell me to stop? By--"
"Stop! Listen to me. I don't know what you've been saying about
this lady--"
"I ain't been saying anything, except what I know, and that is
that--"
"Stop! And I don't care. But I know about you, sir, because it is
my business to know. The Government has had its eye on you for
some time and it has asked me to look into your record. I have
looked into it. You are not a very dangerous person, Mr. Babbitt,
but that is because of your lack of ability to harm, not because of
any good will on your part toward the United States. You have done
all the harm you could, you have talked sedition, you've written
and talked against the draft, you have corresponded with German
agents in Boston and New York."
"That's a lie."
"No, it's the truth. I have copies of your letters and the
Government has the originals. They are not very dangerous, but
that is because you are not big enough to be dangerous. The
authorities have left you pretty much to my discretion, sir. It
rests with me whether to have you taken in charge and held for
trial or merely to warn you and watch you. Very well. I warn you
now and you may be certain that you are watched. You'll stop your
silly, seditious talk at once and you'll write no more letters like
those I have seen. If you do it will be a prison term for you as
sure as I stand here. Do you understand?"
Apparently Phineas understood. His face was not as red as it had
been and there was a different look in his eye. Jed's rough
handling had not frightened him, but the Major's cold, incisive
tones and the threat of a term in prison had their effect.
Nevertheless he could still bluster.
"You can't talk to me that way," he sputtered. "I--I ain't scared
of you even if you are all dressed up in fuss and feathers like a
hand-organ monkey. This is a free country."
"Yes, it is. For decent people it is absolutely free. The other
sort have to be put where they can't interfere with that freedom.
Whether you, Babbit, remain free or not depends entirely upon what
you do--and say. Is this perfectly clear?"
Phineas did not answer the question directly. For a moment he
stood there, his fists clenching and unclenching, and his eyes
snapping. Then he turned away.
"All right," he said, sullenly. "I hear what you say. Now I can
go, I presume likely--unless you've got some more lyin' and
bullyin' to do. Get out of my way, Shavin's, you fool."
But Grover had not finished with him.
"Just a minute," he said. "There is one thing more. I don't know
what it is, and I don't wish to know, but evidently you have been
saying, or threatening to say, something concerning this lady, Mrs.
Armstrong, which should not be said. You are not to mention her
name. Do you understand that?"
The little hardware dealer almost jumped from the floor as his rage
again got the better of him.
"The blazes I ain't!" he shrieked. "Who says I ain't? Is that any
of your business, Mr.--Mr. Brass Monkey? What's you or the United
States gov'ment got to say about my mentionin' names? To the devil
with the United States and you, too! You hear that?"
Major Grover smiled. "Yes," he said, quietly. "I hear it. So
does Mr. Winslow here, and Mrs. Armstrong. They can be called as
witnesses if it is necessary. You had better let me finish,
Babbitt. As I say, you are not to mention Mrs. Armstrong's name,
you are not to repeat or circulate any scandal or story reflecting
upon her character--"
"Or her brother's either," put in Jed, eagerly. "Tell him he can't
talk against Charlie, either."
"Certainly. You are not to repeat or circulate anything derogatory
to the character of either Mrs. Armstrong or Mr. Phillips. In any
way derogatory."
Phineas tossed both fists in the air.
"You can't order me around that way," he yelled. "Besides, if you
knew what I know about that gang you'd--"
"Hush! I don't want to know anything you know--or pretend to know.
As for ordering you about--well, we'll see."
"I tell you you can't. You ain't got the right."
"Perhaps not. But I have the right to use my discretion--my
judgment in your case. And my judgment is that if I hear one
scandalous story about town reflecting upon the character of Mrs.
Armstrong or her brother--yes, or her friends--I shall know who is
responsible and I shall have you arrested and held for trial as an
enemy of the country. You condemned the United States to the devil
only a moment ago in my hearing. Do you think that would help you
in court, Babbitt? I don't."
The little man's face was a sight. As Jed said afterward, he
looked as if he would have enjoyed biting his way out of the shop.
"Huh!" he snarled; "I see. You're all in together, the whole lot
of you. And you, you brass buttons, you're usin' your soldierin'
job to keep your friends out of trouble. . . . Huh! Yes, that's
what you're doin'."
The Major's smile was provokingly cool.
"Perhaps I am," he admitted. "But I shouldn't advise you to forget
what I have just told you, Babbitt. I mean every word of it."
It was Ruth who spoke next. She uttered a startled exclamation.
"There's some one coming up the walk," she cried. "Listen."
Sure enough, heavy footsteps sounded upon the walk leading from the
front gate to the shop. Jed ran to the window.
"It's Sam," he exclaimed. "Good heavens above! It's Sam Hunniwell,
of all folks--now!"
Grover looked from one face to the other.
"Is there any particular reason why Captain Hunniwell shouldn't
come?" he asked.
Jed and Ruth were silent. Phineas chuckled malevolently. Jed
heard the chuckle and spoke.
"'Twas--'twas Cap'n Sam he was goin' to tell," he whispered,
pointing at Babbitt. Ruth caught her breath with a frightened
gasp.
Grover nodded. "Oh, I see," he said. "Well, I don't think he
will. He'll be more--more--careful, I'm sure. Babbitt, remember."
They heard the captain rattle the latch of the front door. Ruth
opened the door behind her. "I must go, Jed," she whispered.
"I--I can't stay."
The Major turned. "I'll go with you, Mrs. Armstrong," he said.
But Jed leaned forward.
"I--I wish you'd stay, Major Grover," he whispered. "I--I'd like
to have you stay here just a minute or two."
Grover hesitated. Ruth went out, closing the living-room door
after her. A moment later Captain Sam came into the workshop.
"Hello, Jed!" he hailed. "Why, hello, Major! What--" Then for
the first time he saw and recognized the third member of the group.
He looked at Phineas and the little man looked at him. The looks
were studies in expression.
"Humph!" grunted Captain Sam. "What in time--? . . . Humph! . . .
Well, Phin, you look awful glad to see me, I must say. Gracious
king, man, don't glower at me like that! I haven't done anything
to you, if you'd only have sense enough to believe it."
Babbitt did not answer. He looked as if he were going to burst.
Major Grover was regarding him with a whimsical twinkle in his eye.
"Mr. Babbitt and I have just been discussing some points connected
with the war," he observed. "I don't know that we agree, exactly,
but we have--well, we have reached an understanding."
The captain was plainly puzzled. "Humph!" he grunted. "You don't
say! . . . Well, I-- Eh, what is it, Jed?"
If any one had been watching Jed particularly during the recent few
minutes they might have observed in his face the dawning of an idea
and the changing of that idea into a set purpose. The idea seemed
to dawn the moment after he saw Captain Hunniwell coming up the
walk. It had become a purpose by the time the captain rattled the
latch. While Captain Sam and the major were speaking he had
hastened to the old desk standing by the wall and was rummaging in
one of the drawers. Now he came forward.
"Sam--" he began, but broke off to address Mr. Babbitt, who was
striding toward the door. "Don't go, Phin," he cried. "I'd rather
you didn't go just this minute. I'd like to have you stay. Please."
Phineas answered over his shoulder. The answer was a savage snarl
and a command for "Shavings" to mind his own business. Grover
spoke then.
"Mr. Babbitt," he suggested, "don't you think you had better stay a
moment? Mr. Winslow seems to wish it."
Babbitt reached for the handle of the door, but Grover's hand was
lightly laid on his shoulder.
"Do stay, Mr. Babbitt," begged the Major, sweetly. "To oblige me,
you know."
Phineas swore with such vehemence that the oath might have been
heard across the road. What he might have said thereafter is a
question. At that moment his attention was caught by something
which Jed Winslow had in his hands and he stayed to stare at it.
The something was a bundle of crumpled banknotes.