Next morning Mark got a telegram from Zadok Biggs. It’s quite a
thing for a boy to get a real telegram, and he was puffed up over it
considerable, showing it to me and Plunk and Binney as if it was a
diamond stole out of an idol’s eye, or some such precious thing as
that. It said:
Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd,—Coming. Hold the fort. Shoo
’em away. News. Friend for life.
Zadok Biggs.
We couldn’t make much out of it except that he was coming, so we
waited for him to turn up, which he did late that afternoon. He
drove up the alley whistling “Marching through Georgia,” and left
his red wagon back of Mr. Tidd’s barn-workshop while he turned
Rosinante loose in the back yard to eat the grass and Mrs. Tidd’s
vegetable garden. We hustled out to meet him.
“Ah!” says he. “My friend, Marcus Aurelius, and his friends awaiting
me, so to speak, with eagerness, eh? I telegraphed. Couldn’t wait.”
He was fairly jumping up and down with excitement, and his long,
lean face was almost glittering, he was so happy. “I said I would
look after the business matters. I, Zadok Biggs, said so. And I
_have_ looked after them. I have news for you.”
“W-won’t you c-c-come in?” Mark asked, when he got a chance.
“Of course. Certainly. To meet your esteemed father, the man of
genius, who bestowed upon—gave—you your name, and who, as a
secondary example of his genius, invented the Tidd turbine.” He came
trotting after Mark, and we followed him. It was a funny sight to
see Mark waddling along, big as a hippopotamus, and Zadok trotting
after with little short steps sort of like a playful puppy.
Mr. Tidd was sitting in the kitchen, with the _Decline and Fall_
open on his lap, watching his wife thumb a pie around the edge. He
looked up when we came in, and then got onto his feet.
“F-f-father,” says Mark, “here is Zadok B-b-biggs again.”
“Um!” says Mr. Tidd, looking at Zadok like he was some peculiar kind
of a bug and he didn’t know whether to be afraid of him or not. “Um!
Zadok Biggs. Howdy do, Mr. Biggs. Howdy do.”
Zadok grabbed hold of his hand and shook it like he was pumping
water on a cold morning. “Mr. Tidd,” says he, “this is a proud
minute. I, Zadok Biggs, swell with pride to clasp your hand, the
hand that named Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus.”
“And,” Mrs. Tidd put in, “the hand that hain’t never spanked him in
the way he deserved.”
“Mrs. Tidd,” says Zadok, “do you recall my promise? You do.
Of course you do. I said I would look after the financial
aspects—business side is perhaps the more usual expression—of the
Tidd turbine. Did I not? Of course I did. Well, madam and sir, my
friends, I have looked after it. Did Zadok Biggs let grass grow
under his feet? No. Behold!”
He drew a letter out of his pocket and waved it in the air. “From
William Abbott,” he said. “Yes, my friends, from William Abbott.
Know him? No? Ah! We went to school together. Zadok Biggs and
William Abbott, schoolmates. Now look at us. William, a millionaire;
Zadok, a tin-peddler. Life is strange.”
Mrs. Tidd was wiping her hands on her apron, and Mr. Tidd was
thumbing over the _Decline and Fall_ with a bewildered look on his
face. “Yes,” says she. “But what about it? What’s in the letter?”
“Of course. Natural question; and I, Zadok Biggs, will answer it. I
communicated—wrote—on account of the Tidd turbine to him. I
described it. I discussed the merits of the invention, not
forgetting the genius of the inventor. And he has replied. He is
interested. In short, my friends, through the instrumentality of
Zadok Biggs he is coming to Wicksville, and for no other purpose
than to look into this matter. Wonderful? No, not at all.”
“W-when’s he c-c-comin’?” asked Mark.
“Natural question, again. William Abbott, millionaire, will
arrive—be here—on the six-o’clock train. We will await him. Mrs.
Tidd will greet him with a piece of that pie, eh? A large piece. It
will delight him.”
We all went into the parlor and waited. Mrs. Tidd made us go into
that room because she thought it was the most fitting place to
receive a millionaire. Well, sure enough, before half past six up
drove Uncle Ike’s bus, and out got a big man, ’most as big as Sammy,
but dressed kind of careless, with an old slouch hat on. I was
disappointed. I’d expected to see a fellow all over diamonds, with
one of those coats cut out in the front so all the shirt showed, and
a plug hat. But he wasn’t that way at all; he might have owned a
grocery store for all you could tell by the looks of him.
Zadok rushed out to meet him, and they shook hands cordial. Mr.
Abbott was tickled to see Zadok, that was plain; and Zadok was
tickled to see Mr. Abbott. They came into the parlor, and every one
of us was introduced. He was a fine man, no frills and no fuss. I’d
like to take him fishing.
He was sort of bashful at first, I guess, but pretty soon he had us
boys talking baseball and things, and we were all laughing and
having the best sort of a time.
“I was invited to supper,” he says to Mrs. Tidd, “and I’ve been
looking forward to it, I can tell you. Zadok wrote about your pies.
We’re going to have pie, aren’t we?” He seemed to be mighty anxious
about it till he found out we were.
It was a dandy meal. When it was all done we went back into the
parlor to talk business. Mr. Abbott and Zadok did all the talking,
and the rest of us just looked on. Before bedtime the whole thing
was settled, and Mr. Tidd was going to be a rich man. Mr. Abbott was
going to manufacture and sell the Tidd turbine, and Mr. Tidd was
going to get what they called a royalty. That means he was going to
get a certain amount of money for every one that was sold.
“Of course,” said Mr. Abbott, “this is provided the turbine does
what you say it will do. I haven’t seen it, you know, and am
depending wholly on what Zadok Biggs here has told me.”
“It’ll w-w-w-work,” says Mark. “I s-seen it.”
Mr. Abbott laughed and said he was sure it _would_ work; and then we
fellows went home, and the Tidds and Zadok and Mr. Abbott went to
bed.
Next day the turbine was set up and tested again in Mr. Whiteley’s
machine shop, and all the papers were signed.
That’s about the end of the story of Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd
and the turbine. But you might as well know that the invention was a
great success. Mr. Tidd did get rich. Money came in so fast he
didn’t know what to do with it, so he just let Mr. Abbott look after
it for him.
It was a good thing for every one of us boys, because Mr. Tidd said
we had helped so much he had to do something for us; and next year,
when we’re through high school, he’s going to send the whole four of
us to college together.
And Sammy? Mr. Tidd fixed it up with the poor-farm so Sammy won’t be
disturbed, but can go all over whenever he wants to. And there’s no
danger of his going hungry or wanting anything as long as he lives.
Uncle Ike keeps right on driving the bus, because that’s the thing
he enjoys the most—says it’s interesting and instructive. He told me
it was a better education than going to college, but I don’t put
much stock in that.
And there you are! Taking it all together, we had quite a time of
it, and lots of excitement, and every bit of it was due, just as I
prophesied, to having a fat boy that stuttered in town.
THE END