AN UNLUCKY MISHAP.
“That’s all right, sir. We’re willing to pay you whatever is right for
the damage we have done,” said Jack, in as pacific a voice as he could
assume.
“Fine times these be when a passel of kids kin come along in a flyin’
contraption an’ take off a man’s roof!” exclaimed the angry farmer, far
from being pacified.
“It was an accident,” declared Jack; “we are just as sorry for it as
you are.”
The farmer in his rage had paid not the slightest attention to the
Electric Monarch, but his two hired men stood looking at it with open
mouths. They had never seen anything like it, and the farmer’s orders
to them to “close up” fell upon deaf ears.
“Accident be dol-dinged,” exclaimed Farmer Turpin angrily; “it warn’t
no accident. You done it a-pupose.”
“We certainly did not,” replied Jack, with some heat. “Do you suppose
we’d want to wreck our craft for a rotten old roof?”
“Rotten old roof!” bellowed the farmer furiously. “I’ll show yer how
rotten it was. It’ll cost yer a hundred dollars fer ther damage you’ve
done.”
“Ridiculous,” said Jack, who had been looking at the damaged roof. It
was old and moss-grown and had covered one of the oldest buildings on
the farm.
The boards of the antiquated structure were split and paintless. Wind
and weather must have had their way with it for many years. Jack
pointed out these facts to the irate farmer. But he proved recalcitrant.
“I want a hundred dollars fer thet thar roof er you don’t go on,” said
he.
“Rubbish. See here, we don’t want to do damage and not settle for it,
but that isn’t to say that we can be bled like that. We’re not so
foolish. I’ll give you twenty-five dollars for that six feet or so of
roof we’ve injured.”
An obstinate look, an expression of fixed stubbornness, came over the
farmer’s face.
“I got yer here an’ yer goin’ ter pay my price. Ther justice of ther
peace here ain’t friendly to automobuls and sich-like, an’ I reckon ef
I say so he’ll give yer all a week in jail as well as a fine. How’d you
like that, hey?”
“Threats like that don’t frighten us,” said Jack stoutly, although
inwardly he began to feel somewhat worried over the prospects ahead.
If the farmer proved as pig-headed as seemed likely it might mean that
they would have to pay his outrageous price or else be sent to prison
by some cross-grained old justice of the peace.
Of course the boy felt that the farmer’s threat was more or less of a
“bluff,” but still he knew from experience the prejudice that a great
many people, especially in remote parts of the country, still felt
against automobiles and every innovation of that type.
“Don’t scare you, hey?” sneered the farmer. “Wa’al, I cal’kerlate ter
put quite a change in yer feelings afore long. Climb down out ‘er that
thar sky-buggy an’ look slippy.”
The boys held a hasty consultation. Things began to look bad.
“Maybe we’d better pay the old wooden-head his hundred and be getting
on,” said Ned. “We don’t want to be arrested or anything like that.”
“I think that’s all a bluff,” said Jack. “Still, if we humor him it may
be better than to fight him.”
“Wa’al, are yer comin’?” demanded the farmer.
“Oh, dry up,” growled out Joyce, unable to contain himself any longer.
“Dry up, hey?” snorted the farmer. “I guess you’ll do the dryin’
yerselves. I wouldn’t take no money now. It’s satisfaction I want. I’ll
hev the whole passel of yer up afore the squire in the morning.”
This certainly looked ominous. The man was clearly as stubborn as one
of his own oxen, and had made up his mind to be as ugly as he could.
Jack wished that Joyce had not made his unfortunate remark and tried to
smooth matters over. But it was no use attempting to calm the ruffled
feelings of the angry agriculturist.
“Climb out of thar now and be right smart about it,” he snorted. “I’ll
show you thet you can’t sass Si Turpin and not suffer for it.”
“But, see here----” began Jack.
“It ain’t no use argyfyin’, young feller. The whole passel of yer goes
over to Mill Creek in ther mornin’ I reckin the squire ’ull give you a
lesson you won’t fergit.”
“Can’t you be reasonable?” struck in Tom. “We’re on our way to
Portstown. It’s important that we hurry up. We’ve got to be there at a
certain time.”
“I don’t give a hoop in Hannibal what ye’ve got ter do!” snorted the
farmer. “You’ve got to go afore the squire fust. Reckon he’ll soak
yer good. He gave a party of automobubblists a good dose last week. I
reckon he’ll be all cocked and primed fer you sky-buggy fellers.”
“Well, I guess it’s a case of pile out,” said Jack, with a rueful grin.
“This old fellow is as obstinate as a mule. We can only hope to make a
good impression on this squire, whoever he is.”
“To judge from his description,” said Tom, “he must be a nice,
whole-souled old party.”
“No palaverin’, now. Git right out. I’ll fix you up with quarters in
the barn where you won’t git out, and give yer the rogues’ march in the
morning.”
There was no help for it. One by one they clambered out, while the
hired men stood by with broad grins. They were delivered over to these
representatives of the enemy while Farmer Turpin marched grimly behind
with his gun.
“Take ’em to the red barn, Reuben,” he ordered, and the boys were
presently marched into a large barn partially filled with hay.
“Now I guess ye’ll stay put for a while,” remarked the farmer, with
grim humor, as he prepared to close the door.
“You old clod-hopper, for two cents I’d bust that hook nose of yours
in,” roared out Joyce angrily.
“That’ll be used agin’ yer at yer trial!” declared the farmer
malevolently. “Yes, sir, that’ll be used agin’ yer. Threats of
violence, hey? Oh, the squire will fix you fellers good and plenty.”
The doors were banged to and padlocked on the outside. For some time
they could hear the farmer pacing up and down as if waiting to see
if they would not make some further complaint. But they all remained
silent. They were determined not to give him the satisfaction of
thinking that he had worried them. Heiny Dill even began to sing to
himself.
By and by the steady pacing of the farmer’s feet outside died away.
“I guess he’s gone to eat supper,” said Tom. “My! how hungry I am.”
This reminded all the others of their appetites, too.
“Maybe he’ll send us something to eat,” suggested Ned hopefully.
But his optimism was not to be rewarded. It grew dark and the captives
in the barn sat supperless and disconsolate. They did not face a
pleasant prospect, supposing the squire to be all that he had been
represented by the malevolent old farmer.
How long they sat thus they did not know, but on Jack’s suggestion they
were about to find themselves beds in the hay when there came a tapping
at the barn door.
“Supper!” cried Tom, but it wasn’t, it was the man called Reuben, or
Reuben Rugg, as he announced himself.
“What do you want?” asked Jack.
“Be you fellers goin’ ter Portstown?”
“We were.”
“Well, if a feller let you fellers out would you give a feller a ride
to Portstown if a feller wanted ter git thar’?”
“We sure would, Reuben. Who wants to go to Portstown?”
“I’m ther feller that would like ter go with you fellers. I don’t want
ter work fer this feller any longer an’ if I got to Portstown I’ve
got a feller thar’ thet’s a kind uv er brother-in-law ter me. So if
you fellers want ter git out, this feller ’ull steal the key when old
Turpin’s asleep and turn you loose.”
“Good for you, Reuben. How long will it be before old Turpin, as you
call him, goes to bed?”
“Jes’ as soon as he gets through writing out what he calls a commitment
agin’ you fellers. I reckon it ‘ud go hard with you if you was ter be
taken afore the squire. He’s a larruper, the squire is. He give me a
month once fer takin’ too much red-eye and lickin’ ther constabule.”
“Well, you watch and wait, Reuben,” said Jack; “we’ll be all ready when
you are.”
They heard Reuben’s heavy footsteps retreating, and then followed a
period that seemed years in extent. But at its termination Reuben’s
cautious voice was heard.
“I’m a-goin’ ter open ther door now. Be you fellers ready?”
“We’ve been ready for the last ten years,” declared Tom, referring to
the length of time it appeared that Reuben had been gone.
The lock clicked and the doors swung open. One by one they cautiously
filed out and tip-toed across the yard to the place where the Electric
Monarch lay bulked in dark shadow. Luckily, it was moonlight, and
the craft lay in a sixty-acre field so that there was plenty of
opportunity to get a good start.
“Old Turpin didn’t monkey at all with the machine, did he, Reuben?”
asked Jack, as they crept along. He was not quite sure how far the
farmer’s malevolence might have led him.
Reuben gave a suppressed chuckle.
“Turpin touch it? Not him. He wanted to, but the old woman told him
thet ef he did as like as not he’d get electric--something or other.”
“Electrocuted?”
“Likely. Say, be you really going ter Portstown?”
“Certainly. You’re not scared, are you?” said Jack with an inward smile.
“Naw, but I got a funny kind ‘er prickly feelin’ down my back like what
I git when straw gits down my neck in threshing time,” admitted Reuben
with a nervous giggle.