MR. SNIDER
It was hard to get them started--they were clustered so thick
around the Deacon and his little box, all talking and laughing and
discussing. Everyone was awake now, and animated,--if those six
little yellow lumps of gold had appeared sooner, even the Hon. J.
Harvey Bowditch couldn't have put the people to sleep.
By sending the Deacon and the gold nuggets ahead, the procession
was formed again for the wharf. The band stayed in the yard,
playing tune after tune, and enjoying themselves immensely.
The "May Queen" was lying at one side of the wharf, so Mr. Snider,
the Deacon, and Mr. Bowditch went to the end, while the people
gathered around them in a semi-circle. Mr. Snider had a small tin
box, which might once have held a pound of crackers. It was
punched full of tiny holes. Two wires were soldered on one side of
the box, and he connected these by long coils of fine wire with
the jars of an electric battery. A little tin tube had been
fastened to the bottom of the box so that it stood upright. Into
this Mr. Snider poured some powder which he took from two little
vials,--first he put in some white powder, and then some of a dark
blue color. He sealed up the top of the tube with beeswax and then
let everyone look into the box and see that, except for the little
sealed tube, it was absolutely empty.
Then he put on the cover, wound a cord completely around it, got
the wires clear, and with the greatest care lowered the box over
the end of the wharf. He kept on lowering until the box must have
been eight or nine feet below the surface. Then he stood waiting,
with the most solemn expression upon his face. Mr. Bowditch stood
beside him, holding a watch, and counting the minutes. Every now
and then he would say, like the tolling of a great bell: "One
minute gone! ... Two minutes gone! ... Three minutes gone! ..."
The people had watched the preparations with the utmost attention.
Not a movement made by Mr. Snider escaped them. Now they all stood
in profound silence. Some of the men had taken out their watches
and were keeping count of the time. After "Eight minutes gone!"
had tolled forth from the big man, he began counting the seconds:
"And ten seconds! ... Fifteen! Twenty! ... Thirty! ... Thirty-
five! ... Six! Seven! Eight!"
At eight minutes and thirty-eight seconds Mr. Snider began to pull
up the box. The excitement was intense. Men from the "May Queen"
had joined the group,--everyone was leaning forward to watch, with
faces set and eager. You could hear the people breathe,--a sort of
miracle was being performed, gold was being made right before
their eyes!
The box came to the top and Mr. Snider had it at last in his
hands. He disconnected the wires of the battery, unwound the cord
which tied the box, and lifted the cover. One woman drew in her
breath so quickly that she almost sobbed, and then choked, and had
to be slapped on the back. Everybody crowded around, even closer
than before, as Mr. Snider exhibited the box. There was a little
mud and gravel inside and this they rinsed away very carefully
with a cup and basin of water. Sticking to the tin tube were two
or three dozen glittering golden grains! The box was passed about,
and everyone looked at the gold in silence.
"Well, I snum! Yer've done it! I didn't believe yer could, but
yer've done it!"
This remark, from a man in front, made most of the people laugh.
One very serious old man kept the box in his hands. He had neither
laughed nor smiled when the man in front spoke, but he looked
earnestly at Mr. Snider.
"Just let me test them little bits of dust, will yer, Mister?"
"Test them? Oh, yes,--certainly, certainly. By all means."
"That's right," said two or three, "let Melvin test 'em."
After giving the box to someone else to hold, Melvin fished out of
his pocket a little china dish and a bottle of some liquid. They
scraped off some of the gilt particles with a pocket knife, and
put them in the dish. Melvin had his bottle poised above them.
"If it aint genyewine," said he, solemnly, "it'll fizzle when I
pour this acid onto it, but if it is genyewine, it won't fizzle."
Then he poured the acid into the dish. There was a pause.
"It don't fizzle," said he.
"Three cheers for Brother Snider!" bellowed the Hon. J. Harvey
Bowditch.
The old man who had made the test advanced toward Mr. Snider. He
had a roll of money in his hand, and I saw a hundred dollar bill
on top.
"I'll take a hundred of them shares, Mister," said he.
"I come first here," said another man, "I've had this fixed up
with Harvey Bowditch ever since we come. Gimme fifty shares."
"I'll take fifty of 'em," said another man.
"Here's twenty-five dollars," said another, "that's good for five
shares, aint it?"
"Just one moment, friends," said Mr. Snider, "just one moment."
They got a stool from the "May Queen," and a little table. Mr.
Snider sat down at the table, with Mr. Bowditch and Deacon Chick
hovering near. They produced a bundle of certificates, all printed
in bright purple ink, with a picture of Washington, and a big
eagle, and a flag at the top. At the bottom was a great gold seal,
with two red ribbons fluttering from it. Mr. Snider filled in the
names with a fountain pen, and the number of shares that each man
purchased.
He sat there and simply raked in money. I counted three thousand
dollars before I got tired counting. But they got more than that,
for the black-eyed man--the man who groaned during the speech-
making--told me that old Melvin Eaton, who had tested the gold,
walked away for a while and thought it over, and then came back
and bought four hundred more shares, giving Mr. Snider five
hundred dollars in cash and a check for fifteen hundred. This had
such an effect on the others--for Melvin had a reputation for
being "closer'n the bark of a tree"--that several of them doubled
their previous purchases. One man had already bought a hundred
shares, and now he counted ten more fifty dollar bills into Mr.
Snider's hand. The money went into a black bag, and Mr. Snider
raised the number of shares on his certificate to two hundred.
"No need to waste another certificate," said he.
The black-eyed man pulled me by the sleeve, and led me up the
wharf, away from the crowd.
"You didn't come on the boat with us," he said, "perhaps you're
part of the Company?"
"I am not!" I said, "I came here last night to look for a boat I
had been cruising in. They made me stay here over night,--Mr.
Snider and the Professor did, but I'm going back on the steamer
with you."
"How do they work this fake anyhow?"
I stared at him.
"Oh, come! You know it's a fake as well as I do. I knew it was one
before I came,--anything that Bowditch is in is always a fake.
I'm sort of sorry, you know, to see these old roosters getting
skinned so badly. It'll do some of them good, for believing in
Bowditch,--he never had to do with anything straight yet."
"Why do they believe in him now?"
"Oh, it's Chick. Chick is an innocent old Betty, he's as much
fooled as the others. He told me that he had put a thousand into
this a week ago, and I don't doubt he has. Bowditch would have got
a few of them,--there are always some who believe in a wind-bag,
no matter how many bunco games he has been in, but Chick got most
of them. Who knows anything about Snider? Now I've seen him, I
wouldn't let him hold my coat while I ran across the street and
back,--not if there was two cents in the coat that I ever wanted
to see again. But they swallow him because Chick does, I guess.
And Chick does because Bowditch does. And there you are... Where's
this Professor? Everything Chick and Bowditch told us while they
were rounding us up for this trip was about the Professor. It was
Professor this and Professor that,--and now we get here, and he
isn't to be seen. What's happened to him?"
"He went to Lanesport just before the steamer came."
"Did you see him go?"
"Why, yes...I..."
"Did you really see him set out on the road and depart?"
"Well, no...I don't know that I did. He went around one corner of
the house, as I went around the other with Snider... Why? What do
you mean?"
"He aint down under the wharf salting these gold-boxes or doing
some other kind of monkey business with 'em? Hey?"
"Why, no," I persisted, weakly, "he's gone to Lanesport, I tell
you."
But the idea struck me for the first time,--"down under the
wharf,"--that was where I had seen them both yesterday.
"Gone to Lanesport?" he continued, "but you say yourself that you
have only his word for it. Why should he go there today? That
looked fishy to me, right on the start. Now the easiest way to
account for that trick Snider did out there on the wharf is that
there's someone down there hitching on another box or stuffing in
that gold. It was a pretty good trick, and you saw how it took
with them."
"But they say that was real gold, and that those nuggets are
real."
"Of course they're real. What of it? They could buy that amount of
gold ten times over--twenty times over--with what they've taken in
this morning. And they expect another boat-load of suckers this
afternoon. And this is only the beginning,--Snider's been
rustling around amongst a lot of women and old people over in
Lanesport, and they're about ready to make over their bank-
accounts to him. They LIKE him, you know,--a lot of folks DO like
just that kind of slippery snake. It's funny,--you'd think anyone
with ordinary common-sense would grab hold of his watch and his
small change, and hang on to it--hard, as soon as Br'er Snider
hove in sight. But no,--they try to crowd their money onto him...
Real gold! Of course it was real,--that's what fetched 'em. They
don't stop to think that there's no connection proved between the
gold and the sea-water. What got 'em interested at first was old
man Chick's reputation for honesty. He is honest,--no doubt about
that, honest as the day is long. Only he's been fooled like the
rest of 'em,--he was over here two weeks ago, and they did their
trick for him then, with the tin box and the battery, and the blue
and white powders, and all the rest of it. They gave him some of
the gold they made then, and he carried it up to the city and had
it analyzed. But they could make gold in J. Harvey Bowditch's tall
hat just as well as in that old tin box."
I had been thinking all the time he was speaking.
"Look here," I said, "I saw them down under the wharf, yesterday
afternoon."
"You did? Where?"
I told him all about it,--how I had seen them both on the platform
above the water, what they were doing, and how guilty they had
acted.
"There's a trap-door, then? Do you suppose you can point it out to
me? Let's stroll down there now. Pretend to be talking about
something else, and just cough when we are on the trap."
It was not very easy to do. There were about thirty people
standing on that little wharf, and they had left baskets, coats
and shawls here and there, so that the standing room was pretty
well covered. Besides, when I came to look for the trap-door I
found I could hardly pick it out, it had been so skilfully made.
At last I thought we were on it, so I coughed, and the black-eyed
man halted. He had been telling me some story all the time, and
now he turned toward me and held out both his hands as if he were
measuring the size of a fish or something. Then he pointed out
into the bay, threw back his head and laughed. Finally he glanced
down at the trap-door, looked up again quickly, and went on with
his story. Then he moved off the door, looked down at it again,
pinched my arm, and whispered: "Say, I think I'll come back here
this afternoon, and have another look at this."
My back had been turned toward Mr. Snider all the time. He was
still at the little table, folding up his certificates. Now I
turned and glanced toward him, and found that he was watching us
very intently. I turned again, and walked toward the end of the
wharf. As I did so, the whistle of the steam-boat blew a loud
toot, and the people began to crowd on board. I walked on with the
rest, getting separated, for the moment, from my friend the black-
eyed man. I saw him talking with two other men, and a little later
saw Mr. Snider and Mr. Bowditch whispering together and glancing
in my direction.
Well, I thought I was departing from Rogers's Island, and from
Snider, for good and all. You would hardly believe how I got left
behind. I heard someone say, "Oh, here's the boy who is going to
find my shawl for me!" and I looked around and saw a nice, smiling
old lady.
"Mr. Bowditch says he won't let the steamer go, if you'll run up
to the house and see if you can find my grey shawl,--I must have
dropped it in the grass there, where we set down."
I wouldn't have done it for Snider,--I would have suspected some
kind of a trick. But I think the lady was sincere, and moreover
you don't suspect an old person in a black silk dress, with gold
spectacles, of laying plots and playing tricks. Her request was
genuine enough,--Snider simply took advantage of it to let the
steam-boat go without me.
I was less than five minutes in running up to the house, hunting
in the grass until I felt sure the shawl was not there, and
starting back to the wharf again. But while I had been out of
sight of the "May Queen" they had cast off the lines and steamed
away. There she was, going merrily, her stern pointed toward the
island, a trail of thick smoke floating back, the band playing
"After the Ball," and no one paying the slightest attention to me!
Yes, there was though,--just one! The old lady in the black silk
dress was standing near the stern waving her hands. I held up
mine,--empty--to show that I had not found the shawl, and ran down
the wharf shouting: "Wait! Stop! Come back!"
It was a silly performance. No one heard me, and I do not suppose
it would have made the slightest difference if they had. They
would not turn the boat around and come back for someone who had
no business on board anyway.
Mr. Snider was not in sight. Had he gone on the steam-boat? Or
crawled through his trap-door underneath the wharf? I did not
know, but I was angry with him. I felt sure that he had purposely
let the boat go without me,--it was part of their scheme to keep
me there, until the people had gone in the afternoon.
Now I should have to go that roundabout way by the road, and get
to Lanesport two or three hours late. There was nothing else to be
done, however, so I went up the wharf once more, and started along
the road. At the turn, just beyond the house, I found Mr. Snider,
walking up and down with his hands behind his back. His face was
rather red, and he did not attempt to smile.
"Why, James," he said, "so you lost the boat! Well, you can take
the one this afternoon."
"I'm going now," said I, "I'm going to walk."
And I tried to pass him. He stepped in front of me.
"Just one moment!" said he, "I would rather you stayed until this
afternoon, and then--"
"Let me go," I answered, "you promised me I could go on the steam-
boat, and then you let it sail without me."
"James, I am sorry to hear you accuse me--"
I tried again to dodge by him, but he reached out one of his long
arms and grabbed me by the coat-sleeve. I jerked it out of his
grasp however, and jumped to the side of the road and tried to
pass him in the gutter. He headed me off with two strides,--he
couldn't dodge as quick as I, but his long legs gave him an
advantage. Then I lost my head and threatened him.
"You'd better let me pass," I said, "I know all about your game
here,--and your trap-door in the wharf!"
His face became pale again in an instant, not white,--lead color.
"You little brat!" he squeaked, "I'll wring your neck for you!"
And he made another grab at me. I dodged again, and a third time,
and as I did so caught one foot in the grass, stumbled and fell.
He had me by the coat collar hi a second, and in another second I
was out of the coat and running back toward the house. I did not
wish to go there, but I didn't have time to choose. The thing to
do then was to get away from Mr. Snider. He dropped the coat and
came after me on the run.
He was a good runner, was Mr. Snider, but I knew I could beat him
if I had any sort of a start. His stride was longer, but he
couldn't move as quick. Besides, he was out of practice. When I
dashed in at the front door he was just coming up the path. I
slammed the door and tried to lock it. But the bolt was rusty and
it stuck. I gave that up and ran upstairs, two steps at a time.
When I reached the landing I ran along the passage toward the rear
in order to get to the stairs to the third storey. Just as I
started up them I heard Mr. Snider burst in at the front door. On
the third storey I had to hunt about a little for the stairs to
the attic. I found them in a moment or two, and ran up into the
attic, and hid behind a trunk in a dark corner.
That had been my idea,--to hide in the attic. And a very foolish
idea it was,--I can see that now. It is quite easy--sitting here
and writing about it--to think of three or four better plans. I
ought to have kept outdoors, and then I could have run around the
house, dodged Mr. Snider, and got a clear start again for the road
across the marsh. He could not have caught me then. The hero of
"The Rifle Rangers," for instance, would have planned all that out
while he was running up the road with Mr. Snider ten feet behind.
But I hadn't planned it. My one idea was to get away from Mr.
Snider. He looked as if he would murder me,--or, at any rate,
half-murder me, and I did not wish to be murdered, nor even half-
murdered. I had rushed into the house without thinking what I was
doing, and now here I was, caught like a rat in a trap, in this
hot, dark, and dusty attic.
For I very soon saw that if Mr. Snider came up into the attic
there was no place to retreat. I could hear him now, hunting
through all the rooms and closets down below. As soon as he found
I was in none of them, up the attic stair he would come. And then
he would simply poke about among the boxes and trunks until he
found me. I had run up one flight after another until I had
reached the top, and now I could go no higher.
No higher? How about the roof? There must be a ladder and a
scuttle in the roof. If I could get up there and close the scuttle
again perhaps I would be safe. Mr. Snider might stop at the attic.
I jumped up from behind the trunk and hunted about in the semi-
darkness. There were other trunks and boxes, old shoes and old
umbrellas on the floor, and I stumbled and bumped against all of
them. Two or three coats or suits of clothes were swinging from
hooks, dangling unpleasantly, like hanging men. But I found the
ladder at last. There was a faint rim of light above, at the edge
of the scuttle. It was high time I found it, for I could hear Mr.
Snider in the room below now, and I felt sure he would come
upstairs in a minute.
The ladder was rickety, but it held, and I got to the top, and
began to fumble for the hasp or lock of the scuttle. It was thick
with cob-webs and dust, and for a while it refused to move. While
I was working at it I heard Mr. Snider open the door at the foot
of the attic stairs.
I stood perfectly still on the ladder. In books they tell how,
when you are frightened, your heart comes into your mouth. It
isn't at all what happens. Your heart stays right where it always
is, but it thumps so loud that you feel as if it could be heard in
the next room. And your throat becomes horribly dry, all of a
sudden, and seems to be closing up. It gets so narrow that you can
scarcely breathe.
Mr. Snider paused for a moment and seemed to listen. Then he
closed the door again and tip-toed away. I went to work at the
hasp again, and finally I had it open. I raised the scuttle, as
quietly as I could, and stepped out on the roof.
The glare of the sun almost blinded me at first. Then I saw that I
was on a flat part of the roof,--the highest point in the house.
The roof sloped on either side toward an enormous chimney. The
shingles were old and rotten.
Looking off, I could see a great distance in almost every
direction. Across the bay, so far that I could hardly see the
steam-boat herself, was a trail of black smoke from the "May
Queen." The water on the other side of the house was hidden by the
trees.
I turned again to make sure that I had replaced the scuttle. As I
did so I heard Mr. Snider's footsteps in the attic beneath. My
first thought was to sit on the scuttle hoping to keep it closed.
But I knew that I was not heavy enough to hold it down. Would he
think of the roof? If he did, and if he came up the ladder, of
course he would find the scuttle unlocked, and he would know that
I was on the roof. The thing to do was to wait there until he
raised the scuttle and then bat him over the head. But
unfortunately, I had nothing to bat him with.
Sure enough, here he came up the ladder! I retreated down the
slope of the roof,--it was a ticklish job, but again my rubber-
soled shoes stood me in good stead--and crawled around to the
other side of the broad chimney, and hid behind it.
I had not been there more than a second before he raised the
scuttle. I could hear him puffing. Once more my heart began to
thump and my throat to contract. He stepped out upon the roof and
I suppose he decided immediately that I was behind one of the
chimneys. At any rate he started down the roof in my direction.
The instant that he did so he slipped and came down on the roof
with a crash. Several shingles must have come out, and he clawed
and scraped at a great rate. I thought--and hoped--that he was
going to slide right off the roof, but he managed to save himself.
His slide was checked somehow, and he commenced to crawl back
toward the scuttle. As he did so he uttered a string of curses
that would have horrified his friends in Lanesport very much.
I heard him descend the ladder. It struck me that he was going
down to the side of the house, to look up to the roof and see if I
were really behind the chimney. I hurried out from my hiding-place
and crawled on my hands and knees up the slope of the roof. But
when I reached the scuttle I found it closed and locked. I could
not raise it. He had caught me now,--I might stay on that roof
forever, for all that I could do.
Unless--and I already had my jack-knife out--unless I could cut
through the scuttle and get at the hasp. The wood was old, frail,
and half rotten,--in three minutes I had the point of the blade
through. In five, I had cut a hole large enough to admit two
fingers. I knew that I was safe from being seen,--anyone on that
part of the roof would not be visible from the ground near the
house. After cutting for a little while longer I put enough of my
hand through the hole to unfasten the hasp. Then I raised the
scuttle, with the pleasant sensation that this was quite in line
with our escape from the jail at Bailey's Harbor. Even better than
that,--I was alone here, and cutting my way out,--or rather
down, with a jack-knife. It gave me a thrill like some of the
adventures in "The Rifle Rangers," and various other story-books.
No more of the roof, no more of the attic for me! I was tired of
being chased about like an animal in a cage,--I was going to get
down stairs and outdoors if I possibly could. I preferred to take
a chance with Mr. Snider in the open.
So I went down the ladder very cautiously and listened in the
attic. Then came the attic stairs, at the foot of which there was
a door to open. I got it open, and stepped into the passage-way. I
could hear nothing. Mr. Snider thought I was safely locked up
there on the roof. Little by little and pausing for two or three
minutes on each landing, I crept quietly down stairs.
When I reached the lower hall I was in doubt whether to go out the
front or the back door. But the back door was open, and so I chose
that. I walked quietly out, crossed the back yard, and nearly ran
into Mr. Snider's arms, as he came out of the woodshed with an
ugly looking club in his hand!
He was more surprised than I, and that gave me the start I needed.
He was after me in a second, but I ran around the corner of the
house and headed for the front yard. Coming through the driveway
was the Professor! I suppose that he had just come up from his
hiding-place beneath the wharf, for his arms were full of his
boxes. As soon as I saw him I turned sharply to the right, ran
through the side-yard by the speakers' stand, and climbed a rail
fence on the far side of the garden.
Then I ran down a little slope toward a clump of trees. As I did
so, I looked back and saw Mr. Snider crawling through the fence.
The trees stood on a little hummock,--there were about a dozen of
them, with some undergrowth. I ran through this, and came out on a
rough ledge of rocks, which ended in a little beach. I had come to
the shore on the other side of the island. Here was a small bay,
not more than a hundred yards in width.
Sailing slowly out of this bay was a cat-boat, with a skull and
cross-bones pirate-flag at the mast-head. It was the
"Hoppergrass"!