A VISITOR
Fervent as this wish was, it was several days before Ted saw Mr.
Wharton again and in the meantime the boy began to adapt himself to his
new mode of living with a will. His alarm clock got him up in the
morning in time for a plunge in the river and after a brisk rub-down he
was off to breakfast with the Stevens's, whose cottage was one of a
tiny colony of bungalows where lived the chauffeurs, head gardener,
electricians, and others who held important positions on the two
estates.
It did not take many days for Ted to become thoroughly at home in the
pretty cement house where he discovered many slight services he could
perform for Mrs. Stevens during the scraps of leisure left him after
meals. His farm training had rendered him very handy with tools and he
was quick to see little things which needed to be done. Moreover, the
willingness to help, which from the moment of his advent to Aldercliffe
and Pine Lea had made him a favorite with Mr. Wharton and the men,
speedily won for him a place with the kindly farmer's wife.
Had Ted known it, she had been none too well pleased at the prospect of
adopting into her home a ravenous young lad who might, nay, probably
would be untidy and troublesome; but she did not dare oppose Mr.
Wharton when the plan was suggested. Nevertheless, although she
consented, she grumbled not a little to her husband about the
inconvenience of the scheme. The money offered her by the manager had
been the only redeeming factor in the case. Quite ignorant of these
conditions, Ted had made his advent into the house and she soon found
to her amazement that the daily coming of her cheery boarder became an
event which she anticipated with motherly interest.
"He is such a well-spoken boy and so nice to have round," asserted she
to Mr. Wharton. "Not a mite of trouble, either. In fact, he's a hundred
times handier than my own man, who although he can make a garden thrive
can't drive a nail straight to save his life. And there's never any
fussing about his food. He eats everything and enjoys it. I believe
Stevens and I were getting dreadful pokey all alone here by ourselves.
The lad has brightened us up no end. We wouldn't part with him now for
anything."
Thus it was that Ted Turner made his way. His password was usefulness.
He never measured the hours he worked by the clock, never was too busy
or too tired to fill in a gap; and although he was popular with
everybody, and a favorite with those in authority, he never took
advantage of his position to escape toil or obtain privileges. In fact,
he worked harder if anything than did the other men, and as soon as his
associates saw that the indulgence granted him did not transform him
into a pig, they ceased any jealousy they cherished and accorded him
their cordial goodwill. For Ted was always modestly respectful toward
older persons; and if he knew more about farming and some other things
than did a good many of the laborers on the place, he did not push
himself forward or boast of his superiority.
Consequently when he ventured to say, "I wonder if somebody would help
me with this harrow?" he would receive a dozen eager responses, the men
never suspecting that Mr. Wharton had given this little chap authority
to order them to aid with the harrowing of the field. Instead each
workman thought his cooperation a free-will offering and enjoyed giving
it.
Thus a fortnight passed and no one could have been happier than was Ted
Turner on a certain clear June evening. He had finished his Saturday
night supper of baked beans and brown bread and after it was over had
lingered to feed the Stevens's hens, in order to let Mr. Stevens go
early to Freeman's Falls to purchase the Sunday dinner. As a result, it
was later than usual when he started out for his camp on the river's
brink. The long, busy day was over; he was tired and the prospect of
his comfortable bed was very alluring. It was some distance to the
shack, and before he was halfway through the pine woods that separated
Aldercliffe from Pine Lea darkness had fallen, and he was compelled to
move cautiously along the narrow, curving trail. How black the night
was! A storm must be brewing, thought he, as he glanced up into the
starless heavens. Stumbling over the rough and slippery ground on he
went. Then suddenly he rounded a turn in the path and stood arrested
with terror.
Not more than a rod away, half concealed in the denseness of the
sweeping branches rose his little shack, a blaze of light! A wave of
consternation turned him cold and two solutions of the mystery
immediately flashed into his mind--fire and marauders. Either something
had ignited in the interior of the house; or, since it was isolated and
had long been known to be vacant, strolling mischief-makers had broken
in and were ransacking it. He remembered now that he had left a window
open when he had gone off in the morning. Doubtless thieves were at
this moment busy appropriating his possessions. Of course it could not
be any of the Fernald workmen. They were too friendly and honorable to
commit such a dastardly deed. No, it was some one from outside. Was it
not possible men had come down the river in a boat from Melton, the
village above, and spying the house had made a landing and encamped
there for the night?
Well, live or die, he must know who his unwelcome guests were. It would
be cowardly to leave them in possession of the place and make no
attempt to discover their identity. For that invaders were inside the
shack he was now certain. It was not a fire. There was neither smoke
nor flame. Softly he crept nearer, the thick matting of pine needles
muffling his footsteps. But how his heart beat! Suppose a twig should
crack beneath his feet and warn the vandals of his approach? And
suppose they rushed out, caught him, and--for a moment he halted with
fear; then, summoning every particle of courage he possessed, he
tiptoed on and contrived to reach one of the windows.
There he halted, staring, his knees weak from surging reaction.
Instead of the company of bandits his mind had pictured, there in the
rocker sat Mr. Wharton and opposite him, in the great leather armchair,
was Mr. Clarence Fernald. The latter fact would have been astounding
enough. But the marvel did not cease there. The light suffusing the
small room came from no flickering candles but glowed steadily from two
strong, unblinking electric lights, one of which had been connected
with a low lamp on his desk, and the other with a fixture in the
ceiling.
Ted could scarcely believe his eyes. All day, during his absence,
electricians must have been busy. How carefully they had guarded their
secret. Why, he had talked with Tim Toyer that very morning on his way
to work and Tim had breathed no word, although he was the head
electrician and had charge of the dynamo which generated the current
both for Aldercliffe and Pine Lea. The Fernalds had never depended on
Freeman's Falls for their electricity; on the contrary, they maintained
a small plant of their own and used the power for a score of purposes
on the two estates.
Evidently either Mr. Wharton or Mr. Clarence Fernald himself must have
given the order which had with such Aladdin-like magic been so promptly
and mysteriously fulfilled. It certainly was kind of them to do this
and Ted determined they should not find him wanting in gratitude.
Pocketing his shyness, he opened the door and stepped into the room.
"Well, youngster, I thought it was about time the host made his
appearance," exclaimed Mr. Wharton. "We could not have waited much
longer. Mr. Fernald, this is Ted Turner, the lad I have been telling
you about."
Ted waited.
The mill-owner nodded, let his eye travel over the boy's flushed face,
and then, as if satisfied by what he saw there, he put out his hand.
"I have been hearing very excellent reports of you, Turner," said he,
"and I wished to investigate for myself the quarters they have given
you to live in. You've made a mighty shipshape little den of this
place."
"It didn't need very much done to it," protested Ted, blushing under
the fixed gaze of the great man. "I just cleaned it up and arranged the
furniture. Mr. Wharton was kind enough to give me most of it."
"I can't claim any thanks," laughed the manager. "The traps I gave you
were all cast-offs and not in use. It is what you have done with them
that is the marvel."
"You certainly have turned your donations to good purpose," Mr. Fernald
observed. "I've been noticing your books in your absence and see that
most of them are textbooks on electricity. I judge you are interested
in that sort of thing."
"Yes, sir, I am."
"Humph!"
The financier drummed reflectively on the arm of his chair.
"How did you happen to go into that?" he asked presently.
"I have been studying it at school. My father is letting me go through
the high school--at least he hopes to let me finish my course there. I
have been two years already. That is why I am working during the
summer."
"I see. And so you have been taking up electricity at school, eh?"
"Yes, sir. I really am taking a business course. The science work in
the laboratory is an extra that I just run in because I like it. My
father wanted me to fit myself for business. He thought it would be
better for me," explained Ted.
"But you prefer the science?"
"I am afraid I do, sir," smiled Ted, with ingratiating honesty. "But I
don't mean to let it interfere with my regular work. I try to remember
it is only a side issue."
Mr. Clarence Fernald did not answer and during his interval of silence
Ted fell to speculating on what he was thinking. Probably the magnate
was disapproving of his still going to school and was saying to himself
how much better it would have been had he been put into the mill and
trained up there instead of having his head stuffed with stenography
and electrical knowledge.
"What did you do in electricity?" the elder man asked at length.
"Oh, I fussed around some with telephones, wireless, and telegraph
instruments."
Mr. Fernald smiled.
"Did you get where you could take messages?" inquired he with real
interest.
"By telegraph?"
The financier nodded.
"I did a little at it," replied Ted. "Of course I was slow."
"And what about wireless?"
"I got on better with that. I rigged up a small receiving station at
home but when the war came I had to take it down."
"So that outfit was yours, was it?" commented Mr. Fernald. "I noticed
it one day when I was in the village. What luck did you have with it?"
"Oh, I contrived to pick up messages within a short radius. My outfit
wasn't very powerful."
"I suppose not. And the telephone?"
They saw an eager light leap into the lad's eyes.
"I've worked more at that than anything else," replied he. "You see one
of the instruments at the school gave out and they set me to tinkering
at it. In that way I got tremendously interested in it. Afterward some
of us fellows did some experimenting and managed to concoct a crude one
in the laboratory. It wasn't much of a telephone but we finally got it
to work."
"They tell me you are a good farmer as well as an electrician," Mr.
Fernald said.
"Oh, I was brought up on a farm, sir."
The great man rose.
"Well, mind you don't let your electricity make you forget your
farming," cautioned he, not unkindly. "We need you right where you are.
Still I will own electricity is a pleasant pastime. You will have a
current to work with now whenever you want to play with it. Just be
sure you don't get a short circuit and blow out my dynamo."
"Do--do--you really mean I may use the current for experiments?"
demanded Ted.
Whether Mr. Fernald had made his remarks in jest or expected them to be
taken seriously was not apparent; and if he were surprised at having
the boy catch him up and hold him to account, he at least displayed not
a trace of being taken unawares. For only an instant was he thoughtful,
and that was while he paused and studied the countenance of the lad
before him.
"Why, I don't know that I see any harm in your using the current for
reasonable purposes," he answered slowly, after an interval of
meditation. "You understand the dangers of running too many volts
through your body and of crossing wires, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, sir," laughed Ted.
"I must confess I should not trust every boy with such a plaything,"
continued the magnate, "but you seem to have a good head on your
shoulders and I guess we can take a chance on you." He moved silently
across the room but on the threshold he turned and added with
self-conscious hesitancy, "By the way my--my--son, Mr. Laurie, chances
to be interested in electricity, too. Perhaps some day he might drop in
here and have a talk about this sort of thing."
"I wish he would."
With a quiet glance the father seemed to thank the lad for his simple
and natural reply. Both of them knew but too well that such an event
could never be a casual happening, and that if poor Mr. Laurie ever
_dropped in_ at the shack it would be only when he was brought there,
either in his wheel-chair or in the arms of some of the servants from
Pine Lea. Nevertheless it was obvious that Mr. Fernald appreciated the
manner in which Ted ignored these facts and suppressed his surprise at
the unusual suggestion. Had Mr. Laurie's dropping in been an ordinary
occurrence no one could have treated it with less ceremony than did
Ted.
An echo of the gratitude the capitalist felt lingered in his voice when
he said good night. It was both gentle and husky with emotion and the
lad fell asleep marvelling that the men employed at the mills should
assert that the Fernalds were frigid and snobby.