Some months previously Alex and Jack had arranged to take their two
weeks' vacation at the same time, and to spend one week at Haddowville,
Jack's home, and the other at Bixton.
The long looked-for Monday had at length arrived, early that morning Jack
had joined Alex at Exeter, and the two boys, aboard the Eastern Mail,
were now well on their way to Haddowville.
For some minutes Alex's part in the animated conversation of the two
chums had waned. Presently, plucking Jack's sleeve, he quietly directed
his companion's attention to the double seat across the aisle of the car.
"Jack, watch that soldier's fingers," he said in a low voice. "What's the
matter with him?"
The soldier in question, in the uniform of an infantry regular, sat
facing them, beside a stout elderly gentleman. Opposite the first soldier
was a second, in a similar uniform; and sharing the seat with the latter,
and facing the old gentleman, was a decidedly pretty young girl.
It was the first soldier's left hand, however, which attracted the boys'
particular attention. Resting in his lap, and partly concealed by a
newspaper, the hand was so doubled that the thumb stood upright. And this
latter member was bobbing and wagging up and down, now slowly, now
quickly, in most curious fashion.
"Perhaps it's St. Vitus' dance," ventured Jack.
"But that affects the whole body, or at least the whole limb, doesn't
it?"
Jack, who sat next the window, leaned slightly forward. "The other
soldier is watching him," he said. "Maybe the fellow with the wiggling
thumb is out of his mind, and this one is taking him somewhere. He is
watching his hand."
Silently the boys continued to regard the curious proceeding.
Suddenly the thumb became quiet, there was the rattle of a paper in the
hands of the second soldier, and in turn his thumb became affected with
the wagging. In a moment the boys understood.
The two soldiers were army signallers, and were carrying on a silent
conversation, using their thumbs as they would a flag.
Jack and Alex looked at one another and laughed softly. "We're bright,
eh?" Alex remarked.
"Let us watch when the other starts again--we can't see this chap's hand
well enough--and see if we can't read it," suggested Jack. "That one-flag
signal system is based on the telegraph dot and dash code, you know. And
it's not likely they are speaking of anything private--only amusing
themselves."
The paper opposite again covered the first soldier's hand, and observing
closely, after a few minutes the boys were able to interpret the strokes
of the wagging thumb with ease. They corresponded precisely to the
strokes of a telegraph sounder, and of course were very much slower.
"... not much. I saw her first," they read. "You have three girls at K
now.... Get out. I'll tell Maggie O'Rorke, and she'll pick your eyes
out.... No, sir. You can have the two old maids just back of you, and the
fat party with the red hair. That's your taste anyway.... If you spoke
she'd freeze you so you'd never thaw out."
The two boys exchanged glances, and chuckled in amusement.
"Say, look at the gaudy nose on that old chap across the aisle," went on
the wagging thumb. "Talk about danger signals! They ought to hire him to
sit on the cow-catcher foggy nights.... I wouldn't like to pay for all
the paint it took to color it.... Plain whiskey, I guess. You can see
what you are coming to if you don't look out.... What's the matter with
that baby back there? Is the woman lynching it, or is it lynching the
woman?... It's not, either. It's just like your high tenor, singing the
Soldier's Farewell. Only better. More in tune.... Yes, if they knew what
we'd been saying about them there'd be a riot. I wouldn't give much for
your hair when the two old ladies behind got through with it."
At this point, unable to resist the temptation, Alex nudged Jack, drew a
pencil from his pocket, and slyly tapped on the metal of the seat-arm the
two letters of the telegraph laugh, "Hi!"
The soldier opposite started, looked quickly over, caught the two boys'
twinkling eyes, and coloring, laughed heartily. Promptly then he raised
his thumb, and wagged, "You young rascals! I'll have you in the
guard-house for stealing military information. Who are you?"
Alex replied, using his thumb as he had seen the soldier do; and the
animated exchange of signals which followed continued until a whistle
from the engine announced a stop, and the soldier wagged, "We get off
here. Good-by."
"Glad to have met you," he said, smiling, as he and his companion passed
them.
"Glad to have met you," responded the boys heartily. "And to have got
onto the signalling. It may come in useful some day," Alex added. "Good
day."
"That's just what I was thinking myself, Al," declared Jack. "We must
practice it."
Following the disappearance of the out-going passengers, a group of
newcomers appeared at the farther car door.
"Here comes someone I know," Jack observed. "The big man in front--Burke,
a real estate agent."
The tall, heavy-featured man passed them and took the seat immediately
behind.
"He didn't speak to you," commented Alex.
"I'm glad he didn't. He's no friend; just knew him, I meant," responded
Jack. "He is a proper shark, they say. I know he practically did a widow
out of a bit of property just back of ours.
"And here is another, same business, from the next town. And not much
better," Jack went on, as a short, bustling, sharp-featured man appeared.
The man behind them stood up and called, "Hi, there, Mitchell! Here!" The
newcomer waved his hand, came forward quickly, and also dropped into the
seat at the rear of the two boys.
"Nice pair of hawks," said Jack. "I'll bet they are hatching up something
with a shady side to it. I'd be tempted to listen if I could."
As the train was again under way, Jack had no opportunity of overhearing
what was being said behind them. A few miles farther, however, they came
once more to a stop, and almost immediately he pricked up his ears and
nudged Alex.
"... don't believe the ignorant dolt knows the real value of butter and
eggs." It was the deep voice of the bigger man, Burke. "He's one of those
queer ducks, without any friends. Lives there all by himself, doesn't
read the papers, and only comes to town about once a month. No; there's
not one chance in ten of his waking up and getting onto it."
"You always were a lucky dog," declared the other. "If you land it you
ought to clear fifty thousand inside of five years."
"A hundred. I intend holding for a cold hundred thousand. There has been
talk of the town building a steam plant already; but water is of course
away ahead of that, and they are sure to swing to it. And this fall is
the only one within ten miles of Haddowville."
"Didn't I tell you!" exclaimed Jack in a whisper. "Doing somebody out of
something, whatever it is."
"You might build the plant yourself, and hold the town up for whatever
you wished," the second speaker went on.
"Yes, I could. But I prefer the ready cash. That has always been my plan
of doing business. No; I figure on disposing of the farm just as it
stands, either to the town, or a corporation, for an even hundred
thousand."
"Does that give you a clue, Jack?" Alex asked.
Jack shook his head. At the next remark, however, he sharply gripped
Alex's arm.
"What fall has the stream there?"
"Forty feet, and the lake back of it is nearly a mile long, and a half
mile wide."
The rumble of the train again drowned the voices of the two men, but Jack
had heard enough. "It's old Uncle Joe Potter--his farm," he said with
indignation. "Now I understand. The old farmer apparently doesn't know
its value as an electric power plant site, and Burke is trying to get
hold of it for a song."
"Let us put the old man onto him," Alex immediately suggested.
"I'll talk the matter over with Father, and see what he says," said Jack.
"But here comes the good old town," he broke off with boyish enthusiasm.
"Look, there is the creek, and the old swimming-hole at the bend. I'll
bet I've been in there a thousand times. And see that spire--that's our
church. Our house is just beyond.
"Come on, let's be getting out."
Catching up their suitcases, the boys passed down the aisle. As they
halted at the door, they glanced back and saw that their neighbors of the
next seat were following them. The two men were still talking; and coming
to a stand behind the boys, the latter caught a further remark from Burke
apparently referring to the Potter farm deal.
"... wrote asking him to town this evening," he was saying. "I'll give
him a bit of a good time to-night, and put him up at one of the
hotels--and, unless something unexpected happens, I'll guarantee I'll
have the thing put through by noon to-morrow."
"I hope you do," responded his companion.
"And I hope you don't!" exclaimed Jack beneath his breath. "And I may do
something more than hope."
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later, after a joyous welcome from his father and mother,
and sister Kate, and the cordial reception extended Alex, Jack was seated
at his "old corner" of the vine-hidden veranda, recounting the
conversation they had overheard between the two real estate men. Before
Mr. Orr had ventured an opinion in the matter, however, the subject was
temporarily thrust aside by the appearance of a party of Kate's girl
friends, evidently much disturbed over something. When on running forward
Kate's voice was quickly added to the excited conversation, Jack followed
to greet the girls, and learn the cause, and returned with the party to
the veranda.
"Now what do you think of this?" he exclaimed with tragic horror.
"Professor Robison, the world renowned mind reader (though I never heard
of him before), owing to his inability to arrive, will not be able to be
present at the Girls' Club song-fight to-night! Did you ever!"
"But it's no laughing matter," said Kate, following the introduction of
her friends to Alex. "He was the feature of our program to-night, and I
simply can't see what we are going to do. Many of the people will be
coming just to hear him."
"Jack, couldn't you help us out?" asked one of the other girls, half
seriously. "You used to pretend you were a phrenologist and all that kind
of thing at school, I remember."
"No thanks, Mary. I've gotten over all that sort of foolishness," Jack
responded, expanding his chest and speaking in a deep voice. "I leave
that for you younger folks."
A small laughing riot followed this pompous declaration, and at its
conclusion Jack carried Alex off to introduce him to his pigeons and
chickens, and other former treasures of the back yard.
Some minutes later Jack was dilating on the rich under-color of his pet
Buff Orpington hen, when Alex, with an apology, abruptly broke in. "Say,
Jack, what kind of a crowd do they have at these Girls' Club affairs?
Very swell?"
"Well, about everyone in the church goes, and quite a few farmers usually
come in from out of town. They are as 'swell' as anything we have here, I
guess. The Sunday-school room is usually well filled. Why?"
"I was just wondering whether we _couldn't_ help the girls out, and have
a little fun out of it into the bargain. Remember the soldiers on the
train? Now, why couldn't we," and therewith Alex briefly sketched his
plan. Jack promptly tossed the hen back into the coop. "Great, Al! We
will! It will be all kinds of a lark. I think there is just the stuff
we'll need up in the garret.
"Come on; we'll break the joyful tidings to the girls."
"I'd rather you played the part, though," said Alex as they returned
toward the veranda. "You of course know everyone."
"That will make no difference according to this plan. If I am in full
view, too, that will add to the mystery, and help keep up the fun. The
folks will be breaking their heads to learn who it is on the platform.
No; it's settled. You are the distinguished professor and
phreno-what-do-you-call-it."
The girls on the veranda were still in dejected debate as the boys
reappeared. "Ladies, we've got this thing fixed for you," announced Jack.
"We have just wirelessed and engaged that world-famous thought-stealer,
bumpologist and general seer, Prof. Mahomet Click, of Constantinople, to
plug up that hole in your program to-night. He stated that it would give
him great pleasure to come to the assistance of such charming young
women, et cetera, and that he could be counted upon."
"You two mean things!" exclaimed Kate. "We saw you with your heads
together out there, laughing. This is no joking matter at all."
"We are serious," Jack protested. "Positively. You go ahead and announce
that owing to an attack of croup, or any other reason, Prof. Robison will
not be able to appear, but that Prof. Click has kindly consented to
substitute, and we will look after the rest."
"Do you really mean it?" cried the girls.
"On our word as full-grown gentlemen," responded Jack. "But we're not
going to explain.
"Come on, Alex, until we have further debate with the distinguished Turk
up in the garret. He probably has arrived by this time."
Whatever doubts Kate had as to the seriousness of the boys' intentions,
they had not only been dissipated by noon, but had given place to lively
curiosity and expectation. Alex and Jack had devoted the entire morning
to their mysterious preparations; had made numerous trips to the church
school-room, to the stores; had borrowed needles, thread, mucilage; had
turned the library shelves upside-down in a search for certain books; and
once, coming on them unawares, she had surprised them practising strange
incantations with their fingers.
It was late in the afternoon that the serious, and what was to prove the
most important, feature of the evening's performance developed. On a
return trip to the dry-goods store Jack drew Alex to a halt with an
exclamation, and pointed across the street. Burke, the real estate man,
was walking slowly along with a shrivelled-up little old gentleman in
dilapidated hat, faded garments, and top-boots.
"The victim!" said Jack with deep disgust. "Old Uncle Joe Potter.
"Look at him sporting along with a cigar in his mouth--one of Burke's
cigars!"
The boys parallelled the oddly assorted pair some distance, and it could
readily be seen that Burke was doing his best to win the old man's
confidence, and that the latter already was much impressed with the
attention and deference shown him by the well-dressed agent.
"If we could get the old man alone," said Alex.
"Not much chance, I am afraid. Now that he has him in hand, Burke
probably won't lose sight of him until he has closed his bargain.
Remember what he said just before we left the train, about giving the old
chap a good time to-night, and putting him up at one of the hotels."
Alex halted. "Give him a good time! Say, Jack, why shouldn't he give him
a good time at the Girls' Club entertainment to-night? And then why
shouldn't we--"
Jack uttered a shout, and struck Alex enthusiastically on the back. "Al,
you've hit it! You've hit it! Bully!
"Here! Give me those complimentary tickets Kate gave us, and I'll go
right after them, before they make any other arrangements. You wait."
Jack was running across the street in a moment, and drawing up alongside
the two men, he addressed them both. "Excuse me, Mr. Potter, Mr.
Burke--but wouldn't you like to take in our Girls' Club entertainment
to-night? It's going to be really quite good--good music, and fun, and a
bit of tea social in between.
"I'm sure you would enjoy it," he declared, addressing himself to the
older man. "One of the features of the program is a chap who claims he
can read people's thoughts. Of course nobody thinks he can, but he will
make lots of fun."
The old man smiled, and looked at his companion.
"It is up to you, Mr. Potter," responded Burke genially. "If you think you
would enjoy it, why, I would. Your taste is good enough recommendation for
me."
"Then let us go," said the old gentleman, putting his hand into his
pocket.
"No; this is my treat," interposed Burke, grasping the tickets. "Here you
are, lad, and keep the change."
"Thank you, sir," said Jack. And with difficulty restraining a shout, he
dashed back toward Alex, waving his hat above his head as a token of
victory.
The scene of the Girls' Club entertainment, the church school-room, was
filled to the doors when the program began that evening.
"I'm beginning to be anxious about Mr. Burke and the old man, though,"
observed Jack, who with Alex had been standing near the entrance, and
remarking on the good attendance. A moment after the door again opened,
and Jack started forward with an expression of relief. They had come.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter, Mr. Burke," he said. "Shall I find you a
seat?"
"Yes, and a good one, now," requested the real estate man.
"I saved two, well to the front," responded Jack. "This way, please."
"Now, Alex," he said, returning, "it's up to us."
The "mind-reading" number on the program was at length reached. The
chairman arose.
"I am very sorry to say, ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "that Prof.
Robison, who is next on the program, was unexpectedly not able to keep
his engagement. However, in his place we have secured the services of
Prof. Mahmoud Click, of Constantinople; astrologer, phrenologist,
mind-reader, and general all-round seer; and I am sure you will find him
no less instructive and entertaining."
Despite this assurance, in the silence which followed there was a
distinct note of disappointment, even displeasure. For it was obvious
that the flowery title of the substitute concealed some local amateur.
Disappointment, however, quickly gave place to a flutter of interest when
the rear door opened, and preceded by Jack Orr, there swept down the
aisle a tall, venerable figure in flowing robes; white-bearded,
spectacled, and crowned with a tall conical hat bearing strange
hieroglyphics.
When, on Jack stepping aside and taking an unobtrusive front seat, the
aged professor mounted the platform and solemnly surveyed his audience,
titters, then a burst of laughter swept over the school-room. The long
yellow robe was covered with grotesque caricatures of cats, frogs, dogs,
cranes and turtles, interspersed with great black question-marks.
The famed Oriental turned about toward a table, and the laughing broke
out afresh. In the center of his back was a large cat's-head, with
wonderfully squinting eyes. When the cat slowly closed one distorted
optic in a wink, then smiled, there was an unrestrained shout of
merriment, and those who were not excitedly inquiring of one another the
identity of the "seer," settled back in their seats expectantly.
Placing the table at the front of the platform, the professor again faced
the audience, and with dignified air, and deep, tragic voice, addressed
them.
"Ladees and gentlemans. Ze chairman have spoke. I am Mahmoud Click, ze
great seer, ze great mind-read, ze great bump-read, ze great profess.
(Laughter.) I am ze seventeen son, of ze seventeen son, of ze seventeen
son.
"An' also have I bring for do ze magic pass," thrusting a hand within his
robe, "Tom ze Terrible, ze son of Tom, ze son of Tom."
The hand reappeared, and placed on the table a tiny black kitten.
The burst of laughter which greeted this was renewed when the tiny animal
began making playful passes at a spool on a string which the dignified
professor held before it, remarking, "See? Ze magic pass.
"Now Tom ze Terrible will answer ze question, and show he onderstan' ze
Ingleesh," the magician announced, at the same time swinging the spool
out of the kitten's sight.
"Tom, how old you are?"
The spool was swung back, the kitten began again hitting at it, solemnly
the professor counted to twenty, and whisked the spool away. "Twenty
year. Correc'.
"You see, ladees and gentlemans, ze venerable cat he cannot make
mistake," he observed amid laughing applause.
"Now Tom, tell some odder ting. How old is ze chairman?" indicating the
dignified elderly man at the farther end of the platform. "Five? Correc'.
"You see, he always is right, yes.
"Now, Tom, how old is ze Rev. Mr. Borden?... Seven? Correc' again."
When the laughter which followed this "demonstration" had subsided the
professor took up a new line. Earlier in the evening a certain John
Peters, one of the town's foppish young gallants, and who now occupied a
prominent front seat, had widely announced the fact that he was present
for the express purpose of "showing the mind-reader up." At him
accordingly the first quip was directed.
"Now Tom, tell ze audience, how many girl have Mr. John Wilberforce
Peters?" was asked. "What? None?" For, the spool being held out of sight,
the kitten gazed before it stolidly, without raising a foot. "Well, how
many does he think he have?"
The spool being returned, the kitten tapped it ten times, paused, and
struck it eight more, while the resulting wave of amusement grew, and the
over-dressed object glowered threateningly at the figure on the platform.
"And how many will he marry?... What? Not one? Well, well," commented the
seer, to further hearty laughter.
"Now tell us about some of ze young ladies," the professor went on. "How
many beaux has Miss K. O.?" While Kate Orr bridled indignantly the spool
was lowered, and the kitten tapped several times on one side, several
times on the other, then, to an outburst of laughing and clapping, sat up
and began hitting it rapidly with both paws.
"I was unable to keep ze count," announced the seer, "but apparently
about ze seventy-five. Miss O. she is popular wiz ze young men, yes.
"And now, Tom," continued the magician, "how many special lady friend
have Mr. Kumming (an extremely bashful member of the choir)?...
Twenty-two! And how many young lady are in ze choir? Twenty-two!
"Ah! A strange coincidence," observed the learned professor amid much
merriment.
With similar quips and jokes the mind-reader continued, then giving the
kitten into the charge of a little girl in a front seat, announced:
"Now will I read ze head. Will some small boys please come up and bring
their heads and bumps?"
Coaxing finally brought a half-dozen grinning youngsters of eight or ten
to the platform. From the pocket of the last to respond protruded the
unmistakable cover of a dime-novel. Him the professor seized first, and
having gravely examined his head, announced, "Ladees and gentlemans, for
this boy I predict a great future. Never have I seen such sign of
literary taste. Yes, he will be great--unless he go west to kill ze
Indian, and ze Indian see him first."
On turning to the head of the second boy, the phrenologist started,
looked more sharply, and slowly straightening up, announced, "Ladees and
gentlemans, I have made ze great discovery. This boy some days you will
be proud to know. Never have I seen such a lovely bump--for eat ze pie!
And any kind of pie you will name. He don't care. He will eat it."
And so, to continued laughter, he went on, finding remarkable cake-bumps,
holiday-bumps, and picnic-bumps, and proportionately under-developed
school and chore-bumps--with the exception of one glowing example, which
finally proved to have been developed by a baseball bat.
Then came the "mind-reading." Placing a small blackboard on the front of
the platform, facing the audience, the professor seated himself in a
chair ten feet behind it, and invited someone to step to the board and
write.
"All I ask is," announced the mind-reader, "please write not too fast,
and fix ze mind on what you write. And by ze thought-wave will I tell it,
letter by letter."
The first to respond wrote the name of his father, a doctor. Expecting
only some humorous guess as to what was written, the audience was
somewhat surprised when the professor spelled out the name correctly,
only adding the humorous touch of "mud," hastily corrected to "M. D." As
others followed with figures, and more difficult names and words, the
interest of the audience began to take on a new tone.
The last of the first party which had stepped forward to write was the
over-dressed young man Alex had poked some of his fun at, and who was
bent on "showing him up."