STRANGE ACTIONS
The experience Tom had once had, as a clerk in a grocery store, where
he took orders over the telephone, had made him fairly expert in the
use of the instrument. He soon got the aged doctor’s house on the wire,
and was inquiring of Mrs. Barton Sandow (which the physician gave as
his sister-in-law’s name) whether the pocketbook had been left there.
“Yes, it’s here,” answered Mrs. Sandow shortly. “He forgot it, as
usual. Tell him he left it on the breakfast-table. Why, is he in
trouble?”
“No; only he wants to buy some books, and he hasn’t the money with
him,” answered Tom politely.
“Well, tell him to be sure and not forget to come home to dinner,” said
Mrs. Sandow, as she hung up the receiver with a click that snapped in
Tom’s ear.
“What does she say?” asked the old doctor.
“It’s there,” answered the boy. “And she wants you to be sure not to
forget to come home to dinner.”
“I’ll not. I’ll start right away, and then I can’t forget. But I must
tell Mr. Townsend about this book. I remember once I took a volume
without paying for it--let me see, it was the same day I picked up a
rare copy of Bacon’s works--and I forgot to send the money for a week,
I got so interested reading it. I want him to send after the money for
this, in case I don’t forward it right away.”
Tom found the book-store proprietor and told him of Dr. Spidderkins’
desires.
“Tell him to take the book, and welcome,” was the reply Mr. Townsend
sent back. “He can take all the books he wants. He is good for them.”
The doctor left, after insisting that a messenger must be sent to his
house that evening for the ten dollars, in case he did not send it
sooner.
“I guess you’d better stop up and see the doctor, Tom,” said Mr.
Townsend, when it came closing time. “He hasn’t sent the money, and,
while I know he’ll pay it, he always likes to have things done just as
he requests. I don’t want to offend him. So just take a run up there.
You know where the place is now.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I bring back the money to-night?”
“No; fetch it with you in the morning. I suppose you know that,
beginning next week, we shall keep open quite late, on account of the
Christmas trade?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t mind.”
“I’m glad you don’t. The boy who had the place you now have left on
account of that.”
Tom made up his mind it would take a good deal more than that to make
him give up his job.
He took a car for the Back Bay district, and arrived at the Spidderkins
mansion about seven o’clock. His knock was answered by the woman he now
knew to be Mrs. Sandow.
“Well?” she asked ungraciously.
“I called to see Dr. Spidderkins.”
“What about?”
“I was told to collect ten dollars for some books.”
“Oh! Those everlasting books!” exclaimed Mrs. Sandow. “My
brother-in-law spends more money on them than he does on the house.
It’s all foolishness!”
She opened the door a little wider, and Tom took this for an invitation
to enter.
“Are your feet clean?” she asked suspiciously.
“I wiped them carefully on the mat.”
“I don’t believe you half did. I never saw a boy yet with clean feet.
Wait here, and I’ll tell the doctor.”
“Ah, good evening, my lad,” exclaimed the aged physician, as, with his
spectacles half-way down on his nose, and holding a book in each hand,
he came out to greet Tom. “You are from the printer’s, aren’t you?
Have you the proofs of my new book on ‘The Influence of Environment in
Nervous Diseases’?”
“No, sir. I’m not from the printer’s,” said Tom. “I came about the ten
dollars, for Mr. Townsend.”
“Oh, yes, to be sure. How stupid of me. I wonder where my pocketbook
is?”
“Didn’t you find it?”
“Find it? Did I lose it?”
“Yes. Don’t you remember me telephoning about it for you, when you were
in the store?”
“Oh, yes, to be sure. Now I know who you are. Dear, dear, I am getting
to have a bad memory, I’m afraid!”
He already had it, Tom thought, but the old gentleman was such a
delightful character, that the boy could not help liking him.
“Come right into the sitting-room,” went on the doctor. “Let me see,
your name is Theopholus, isn’t it?”
“No, sir, it’s Tom Baldwin.”
“Oh, yes, I recollect now. Well, Tom, just sit down a minute, and I’ll
get the money. Please don’t disturb any of the books or papers. I’m
writing another book on how to avoid taking colds, and I’m looking up
all the authorities about that form of disease.”
The table was covered with books and papers, and Tom took a seat far
enough away so that there would be no danger of disturbing them.
“Eliza, have you seen my pocketbook?” Dr. Spidderkins called, as he
left the room.
“I put it right on top of your desk, where you couldn’t help but see
it,” answered Mrs. Sandow.
“Oh, yes, of course; I remember now. I have it in my pocket.”
The doctor came back into the sitting-room. He was followed a moment
later by a tall, dark complexioned man, whose eyes, as Tom noticed at a
glance, seemed to be continually shifting about.
“Ah, Barton, are you going to sit here and read?” asked the doctor
pleasantly.
“I was going to, but you’ve got your confounded papers all over the
table, so I don’t see how I can very well,” answered the man, in surly
tones.
“I’ll make a place for you at once,” said the doctor hastily, sweeping
the papers to one side.
“You needn’t bother,” was the man’s ungracious remark. “I can go
somewhere else. I wish you, wouldn’t make such a muss.”
“But this is about my new book.”
“I don’t care what it is.”
The doctor seemed to shrink away from Mr. Barton Sandow, and Tom felt a
natural resentment against a man who would speak so ungraciously to an
aged person.
“Allow me to present a friend of mine to you,” went on the physician
courteously. “This is Tom Baldwin, Mr. Sandow. Tom, or I suppose I
should say Thomas, this is my brother-in-law. That is he is a sort of
brother-in-law. His wife was my brother’s wife, but my brother has been
dead several years, and his wife married again.”
“You needn’t go into the whole family history,” said Barton Sandow
surlily. “How are you?” he added to Tom, but his tone of voice was such
that he might as well have told the boy he did not care whether he was
well or ill.
“I--I wasn’t going to,” said the doctor gently. “I only
thought--I--er--and--er--” he seemed to forget what he was going to say.
“Did you call on business?” asked Mr. Sandow suddenly, looking at Tom.
“Dr. Spidderkins evidently has forgotten what it is about,” he added
with a sneer.
“I’m from Mr. Townsend’s book store,” was the boy’s reply.
“That’s it. I knew it was something about books,” said the doctor with
an uneasy laugh. “Thank you for reminding me. I had forgotten. I must
pay you that ten dollars.”
He drew out his pocketbook, and began fumbling with it, for his
eyesight was clearly not of the best.
“Ah, I thought I had a ten-dollar bill somewhere in it,” he said, as
he handed Tom an envelope. “I sealed it up in this, and meant to send
it, but I forgot it. But there ought to be more money in my wallet. I
left fifty dollars in it this morning, and now there are only fifteen.
I wonder what has become of the rest?”
“Do you think I took it?” asked Mr. Sandow, almost savagely.
“Why--er--no--of course not,” answered the old doctor, looking over the
tops of his spectacles. “I only thought----”
“You don’t know what you thought!” exclaimed the other quite fiercely.
“First thing you know you’ll be accusing me or my wife of stealing
money from you. ’Liza, come here!” he called.
His wife stood in the door.
“What is it, Barton?” she asked.
“The doctor has missed some money from his pocketbook, and he accuses
us of taking it.”
“No, no! Nothing of the sort!” said the physician quickly. “I--I didn’t
mean that. I--I thought I had more money than I have. But--er--I
must----”
“You spent it, and you’ve forgotten all about it,” declared Mrs. Sandow
with a hard laugh. “You’re always doing that, Lemuel. Didn’t you pay
for two tons of coal this afternoon?”
“That’s so, I guess I must have, but I don’t recollect about it. Did
any coal come?”
“Of course,” answered Mrs. Sandow, quickly, and Tom, looking up
suddenly, saw her making some kind of a motion to her husband.
“Then that must be where the money went,” agreed the doctor. “I’m sorry
I’m so forgetful. It may interfere with my new book. I don’t mind the
money, but I like to know where I spend it.”
“Probably you wasted it on books,” said Mr. Sandow, half growling out
the words.
“No, I never waste money on books, and I only spent ten dollars for one
to-day.”
“Ten dollars for a book!” gasped Mrs. Sandow. “You’ll be in the
poorhouse soon, at that rate.”
“It was a very rare volume,” pleaded her brother-in-law. “I--I couldn’t
very well let it go.”
“Humph!” sniffed the woman. “You’ll wish you had that money some day.
But it’s time you went to bed. You’re forgetting it’s past your hour.”
“Is it?” asked the doctor humbly. “I knew there was something I ought
to remember. Well, good-night, Tom--is it Tom? Oh, yes, I remember now.
Perhaps you’ll have some more books to deliver for me next week. I must
get some more authorities on colds,” and the aged gentleman tottered
off, shaking his white head, as though vainly trying to remember
something.
“I guess that’s all that need detain you,” said Mr. Sandow rather
roughly to Tom. “We close up early here.”
“Yes; my business is finished,” replied the boy.
As he went down the stone steps, our hero wondered at the queer actions
of Mr. and Mrs. Sandow, for they seemed to have some strange control
over the aged doctor.