When Devil Marston awoke that morning he was conscious of a vague
feeling of satisfaction. As his brain grew more and more active he
smiled broadly, showing his wolfish teeth, and threw himself from his
bed. Good news would await him that morning. By covert watching he had
seen where The Prince was to be stabled, and late the night before had
gone in person to tell Dan Travers just how to go about the work. It was
ridiculously easy--to make way with the colt--and ere this the thing had
been done, for Travers had seemed eager for the undertaking. As he set
about dressing Marston reviewed it all mentally; the success of his
hireling's venture, the dismay and consternation of the Dudleys, the
total lack of proof as to who committed the crime. But the consciousness
that those whom he hated would know positively who was back of the crime
was the sweetest thought of all. And Travers was coming this morning to
make his report; this had been Marston's last order. He might arrive at
any moment, and Marston wanted his breakfast before listening to good
news, for it would sound better upon a full stomach. He opened a door
and rudely bawled an order into vacancy, but a fear-filled negro's voice
answered him in assuring words. His rule was one of absolute terror. His
servants were no more to him than so many dogs, and they obeyed him as
such. When he sat down to his meal a few minutes later an ill-favoured
negro youth waited upon him, and a slatternly wench appeared at times
from the kitchen, bringing new dishes to the door. Marston ate
repulsively, as befitted his birth and character, and took an intense
delight in his meal, which was coarse and poorly prepared. Throughout it
all he listened repeatedly for his expected caller, and when he rose
from the table there was not the slightest suspicion in his mind that
anything had gone wrong. He would go to the stable and have a look at
his favourite racers. The last barrier which stood in the way of their
supremacy had been removed, and he would gloat over them with increased
pleasure now. He issued some harsh orders for directing his caller when
he should arrive, and left the house with quick strides.
As he walked around and about the noble animals which were his greatest
pride his heart swelled with exultation. But when he came out of a stall
presently and saw the man for whom he had been waiting standing before
him, a swift alarm seized him and made his dark face pale. For a moment
they stood staring into each other's eyes, one with mounting anger, the
other with sullen passiveness. Then Marston strode forward and thrust
his darkening visage close to Travers' face.
"Didn't you do it, you sneak?" he demanded, his upper lip curling back,
showing his fangs. "Don't you dare to tell me you have failed me!"
Travers' accustomed nervousness had vanished. He was perfectly calm as
he stood within arm's length of the infuriated Marston.
"I'm the man to make a fuss," he answered, "for you steered me into a
hole which nearly cost me my life. I was discovered, captured, and had
to tell all the business to get off with a whole skin!"
Marston's face grew black, and he shook in his track with rage.
"You coward! You traitor! Who was there to capture you, and wring
anything from you? Tell me, before I knock you down!"
Travers pushed back his coat sleeves and held out his wrists. Each was
ringed with purplish bands, and swollen. Then he related his experience
in detail, and ended by delivering, word for word, the message which
Glenning had sent. As Marston listened his rage rose up and choked him.
At the conclusion of the recital he was wild, and moved about threshing
the air with his fists. When he at length came to a standstill his face
was the colour of ashes, and he was shaking from the violence of his
emotion.
"He said that, did he? The upstart! He'll shoot me, will he? He's going
to tell me what to do, and what not to do! I'll attend to him! He'd
better have stayed where he came from."
Then, muttering to himself as was his wont when enraged, he wheeled and
went towards the house, leaving Travers to look out for himself.
The landlord of the Union House did not tarry long. He had done a thing
which yesterday he would not have believed himself capable of doing. Now
he went slowly down to the yard gate, wondering at his bravery, got
into a wornout road-cart which he had borrowed in town from a country
friend, and began his return trip.
* * * * *
When Glenning had dispatched a hasty breakfast he sought the clerk in
the hotel office and told him to have his bill ready some time that
forenoon. That worthy at once evinced a loquacious interest in the new
doctor's affairs, and would fain have inquired his departing guest's
plans for the future, but John merely replied that he had no intention
of leaving town, and went up to his room. Here he was soon joined by Tom
Dillard, who came in wearing the most dejected air possible, tendered a
perfunctory good morning to John's hearty greeting, and sank upon the
edge of the bed, his round, soft face wofully elongated.
"Sick this morning, Dillard?" queried Glenning, busy with the damaged
clothes which still lay on the chair. "I'd as lieve have you for my
first patient as anybody."
Dillard sighed, and shook his head dolorously.
"Not exactly sick, and not exactly well," he replied, "but it's precious
little sleeping I did last night."
"Indigestion?"
"No; worry."
Glenning, briskly wielding a clothes brush, glanced at Dillard. He was
evidently in the depths of despair, and had most likely come for
consolation or advice.
"Do you suppose I can help you?" queried John, sympathetically.
"I'm going to tell you about it, anyway, and see what you think. Maybe
it looks pretty queer to you that I should come here and make a
confidant of you when I hardly know you, but I have all kinds of faith
in you, and this matter touches people I like immensely, and I know
you'll regard all I say as confidential."
He stopped, and let his fat hands stray vaguely over his knees.
"Certainly I'll keep still, Dillard, and I'll be glad to help you all I
can."
"You see it's about the Dudleys. I don't suppose you know it, but
they're poor as Job's turkey. All they've got is that house and an acre
or two of ground and that horse, and--fifty shares of bank stock. The
old man bought this stock when he got too bad off to manage his racers
properly--sold them, you see, and invested his money this way, so that
he wouldn't have any worry, and it'd bring 'em in just enough to live
on. The bank's boomin', doin' the best business it ever has, and has
been declaring a five per cent, semi-annual dividend. That's ten per
cent, a year on the Major's investment, which means five hundred dollars
per annum for him and Miss Julia to live on--nothin' handsome, you see,
but it'll keep 'em from gettin' hungry. Now these people are my friends,
and I hate to see 'em suffer."
"Well, what's the worry? Is the bank insolvent? You just said it was
doing a fine business."
"Best in its history! There's a dividend due the last of this month, but
it's not going to be paid!"
Glenning wheeled from where he was bending over his open trunk.
"Why isn't it going to be paid?"
"I'll tell you."
Dillard looked around to see that no doors were open, then leaned
forward and spoke in a loud whisper.
"The president of our bank is a Mr. Marston. He's rich as Jersey cream,
and he owns the bulk of stock in the institution. He hates the Dudleys
like snakes, and he never loses a chance to do something that'll hurt
'em. The last meeting of the directors was the one at which the six
months' dividend should have been declared. We've earned it all right,
and more besides. There's no just reason under the sun why it shouldn't
have been paid. The whole board was in favor of it but Marston. They had
a warm session. They hold their meetings in a back room at the bank, and
while it was a closed meeting, I knew that an argument was in progress,
for they were there an hour and a half. But they can't go against
Marston's wishes. I learned later that he insisted on buying a new safe
for the bank, which costs a pile o' money, and also declared that some
improvements had to be made in the bank building. The whole thing was
bosh, for we have a good safe, and there are no improvements needed. It
was just a well-aimed blow at the Dudleys, but it went through. The new
safe and the improvements were ordered to record, and the dividend was
passed. If that doesn't mean starvation for our friends then I don't
know what I'm talkin' about."
Glenning did some quick thinking. Then he came over and sat down by
Dillard's side.
"Is this generally known?"
"No; but it will be when our statement is published in the _Herald_ next
Friday."
"I feel a warm personal interest in the Dudley's affairs, Dillard, and I
thank you for speaking so frankly. You have been open with me, and I
will be the same with you, and together we will fight this low
scoundrel. Listen. I arrived in your town night before last, a total
stranger. Since then I have learned this much. Devil Marston hired an
emissary to burn that stable. Yesterday, in that room over there, he and
the man who conducts this hotel concocted a scheme whereby Travers
should kill the Dudley's colt last night. I overheard them, and went
directly to the Dudleys with my story. They had no one to help them, so
I volunteered. They consented, and I stood guard last night in the
smoke-house where the horse was quartered. Travers came to do the foul
deed and I caught him--literally caught him and held him with my hands
and made him promise to go to this Marston and tell him that I would
kill the next man who came to the Dudleys with mischievous intent."
Dillard looked at the earnest face before him with wide eyes and open
mouth. He could scarcely believe the words he heard, though he did not
doubt they were true.
"Now," resumed Glenning, firmly, "we at least know our man, and that is
something. I do not fear him, but with you it is different. Yet if we
confound him in the end I believe that you will have more to do with it
than I. Let us speak with perfect candor. You are dependant for your
living upon your salary?"
"Yes, there's ma and me. We haven't a thing, and our living comes from
my salary at the bank."
"Just so. Then you couldn't afford to openly oppose your president. You
would quickly lose your position if you did. We must move very
carefully. Does Marston take an active interest in affairs at the bank?
I mean is he familiar with the books, and the accounts--in other words,
is he a live president, and not a figure-head merely?"
"He's in every day, poking and prying around. There's nothing goes on
that he doesn't know about."
"Does the clerical force like him?"
"He hasn't a friend in the bank, not even the cashier. We all know he's
a rascal, but he's so powerful that we're afraid to say a word aloud
when he's around."
"What is your position, Dillard?"
"Head bookkeeper."
"Then let me make a suggestion to you. Watch Marston. Watch his every
movement. You know the national banking laws. See that he doesn't
infringe on them. A man as unscrupulous as he is liable to attempt
anything. Watch him. Watch every mark he makes with a pen, and the first
time he steps over the line come to me and let me know. Will you do
it?"
"I'll do it, doctor, and I don't believe I'll have to wait very long."
Then they sat in silence for a few minutes, each thinking of what the
other had said.
Glenning spoke.
"I hope you will understand me, Dillard, when I ask how Major Dudley's
account stands?"
"Certainly, doctor. I was looking at it yesterday, and it's almost even.
Only a few dollars to his credit. I swear I don't know what'll become of
'em!"
Glenning knit his brows thoughtfully.
"They'll have to live in spite of Marston," he said. "How this will be I
can't say now, but they shan't want because a low-lived rascal has the
upper hand for the time. I shall want to begin a small account with your
bank today."
"All right. New depositors are always welcome."
"And I must get away from this hotel, Dillard. After my experience last
night I think it wise for me to change my quarters. Don't you know of a
vacant room upstairs over some one of your business houses, and isn't
there a private boarding-house where I might get my meals?"
"I'm pretty sure I can fix you up that way. Suppose we start now, before
I go to work? You can come back and finish packing."
"Good; I'll appreciate your help."
By three o'clock that afternoon the new doctor was thoroughly
established in Macon. The boarding-house where he secured accommodations
was diagonally across the street from the house which he had seen Doctor
Kale enter the day before--and which he learned later was the old
gentleman's residence--and he had secured two rooms over a dry goods
store on Main street, just opposite the courthouse, which suited his
purposes admirably for offices. The back apartment, which was entered
first, was a consulting room, and contained his library, while the front
one was his office proper. As a finishing touch John swung his sign over
the sidewalk below, then came upstairs and sat down by an open window
with a book. But his mind was not in a proper condition for either
reading or study. Dillard's revelation had proven a source of much
concern, and he had not been able to get away from it. In vain he tried
to argue with his conscience that the Dudleys were nothing to him, and
that he would have his hands full making his way in his new field of
labor. This course of reasoning proved futile. The sweet face and
trusting eyes of Julia dispelled the illusion, and he realized that he
had to take a hand in the game which Fate had prepared. The conviction
being established, the next thing was to work out the solution. But no
plan would come; he knew that he was bound and helpless.
It was an ideal mid-afternoon in summer, and as Glenning gazed
listlessly from the window he saw an almost deserted thoroughfare. A
negro lad went whistling down the opposite pavement, clattering a stick
along the iron palings of the courthouse fence; the leaves of the trees
in the courthouse yard hung motionless in the quiet atmosphere, and even
the ever-busy English sparrows seemed taking a siesta.
Directly several men emerged from one of the lawyer's offices which made
up three sides of Court Square. None of them wore coats, and one was
without either coat or vest. From the remainder of his apparel he was
evidently a farmer. An old man with a long, white beard, holding in his
hand a staff longer than himself. He was much excited, for he hopped
about in a bird-like way, wagging his whiskers and scratching his head
and ever and again thumping the earth with his staff. An altercation was
evidently in progress among the men, and the voice of the old fellow was
always loudest. He was plainly insisting upon a point which was meeting
with some resistance. Another party now joined the group, and Glenning
at once recognized Doctor Kale. As he made his appearance, the old
fellow with the rod danced up to him with a gesture almost threatening
and began a loud-voiced harangue. Doctor Kale was obdurate. He shook his
head and thumped about, and remained firm. He of the long whiskers was
rapidly working himself up to the fighting point, when a man who had
been standing somewhat apart came up, caught him by the arm, and pointed
across the street to a point directly beneath the window where John sat.
What he said worked like magic. The old fellow beckoned Doctor Kale,
grasped the arm of another member of the party, and the three at once
started across the road. Another moment John heard heavy footsteps
climbing the stair. Before he could reach the door it was opened
hurriedly, and the men trooped in.
"There he is!" grumbled Doctor Kale, starting on a tour around the walls
of the room, sniffing his wrath, and ignoring the necessity of any sort
of an introduction.
"I want a doctor! I ain't sick 'n' my fam'ly ain't sick, but Dink
Scribbens took with the small-pox las' night 'n' me 'n' my folks has to
pass his door ever' time we come to town! That ol' hippity-hop
(indicating the still marching figure of Doctor Kale) 's skeered to go,
though he never caught anything in his life!"
"I'm not afraid!" promptly fired back Doctor Kale. "I've waited on
small-pox, chicken-pox, rosiola, measles, and every skin disease you
ever heard of, but I'm not going to give my time to these damned
paupers! Paupers 've got no business gettin' sick!"
"Are these people--paupers?" asked John, addressing the question to the
third man, who up to this time had maintained silence through necessity.
He was a large, stout individual, bearing plainly upon his face the
marks of conviviality. He came forward heavily, and held out his hand.
"I'm Joe Colver, county judge," he said, dragging his words as though
each was anchored in his chest. "Uncle Billy Hoonover come in a while
ago sayin' the Scribbenses had small-pox. I don't know whether he knows
what he's talkin' about or not, but they live in our county and it's our
duty to investigate it and if necessary put a quarantine on 'em." He
smiled laboriously as he continued. "We usually give cases like this to
the young fellers. The old hosses git above it, you know. If you'll go
and take charge I'll promise the county'll allow you a reasonable fee.
And you'll save Uncle Billy Hoonover a fit of some kind if you'll go
pretty quick."
"Fit!" shrilled Uncle Billy, prancing up and down. "Who wouldn't have a
fit with the ketchin' small-pox under his nose? Tell me that?"
"I'll go, judge," said Glenning; "where do they live?"
"Under my nose!" reiterated Uncle Billy. "A crick 'n' a narrer fiel'
'twixt them 'n' me! The win' could blow it right in my door if it set
right!"
Doctor Kale had at last brought himself up, and he now cast a withering
look of scorn upon the excited layman. He was plainly too full for
words, for in a moment he clapped his hat on his head and bustled out
with it riding his ears.
"Old Kale's a caution," commented the judge, laughing lazily, "but he's
got plenty o' doctor sense. He's got the cream o' the practice about
here. The best people want 'im, and they'll wait for 'im if they ain't
pretty bad off. I knew you was on a cold trail, Uncle Billy, when you
struck Kale."
"He'd better quit if he can't 'ten' to the sick. I don't b'lieve in
'scrimination, nohow. He might 'a' knowed the county'd 'a' paid 'im for
his work. There never was a county without paupers in it, 'n' they're
always gittin' somethin' worse'n anybody else!"
Judge Colver waved his hand and turned to go.
"Uncle Billy'll show you where they live, doctor. I wish you'd bring me
your report as soon as you get back. We haven't had small-pox in the
county for thirty years," he added, as his big figure moved ponderously
out the door.
Mr. Hoonover had carried his point, but that fact in no wise stilled his
tongue. He must talk. An argument was always better suited to his
temperament, which was naturally belligerent, but when controversy was
impossible he rambled on anyhow. While Glenning was making his brief
preparations Uncle Billy's tongue was going.
"I hope you'll run ol' Kale till he takes in his sign!" he piped. "A
doctor oughter be for ever'body, but ol' Kale's for the quality
stric'ly. I do b'lieve he'd be glad if I was took with the small-pox,
so't he could git a dig at me."
"Oh, then he is your family physician, too?"
"Yes, yes; I'm a fool like the balance of 'em. But it don't pay to git
stuck on any one doctor, for they'll either neglect you or bulldooze you
when you do. If you c'n cure the Scribbenses, durned if I don't switch
off 'n' have you for a spell!"
Glenning smiled as he picked up his medicine case and reached for his
hat.
"We don't cure small-pox as easily as we do some things," he said. "I
understand these people live some distance from town?"
"Yes, on the Hillville pike--that is, you go that pike for a couple o'
mile, 'n' then strike out a side road passin' my place."
"Am I to go with you?"
"Yes, my buggy's ready--" Uncle Billy stopped at the foot of the stair
they had been descending, and squinted suspiciously up at John, one step
above him. "But how'r' you goin' to git back? I can't tech you nor be
a-nigh you after yo've handled the small-pox!"
"I'll have my horse and buggy here in a day or two--from Jericho," mused
Glenning. "I tell you. I'll get a vehicle from the nearest stable. Where
is it--your nearest livery stable?"
They came out on the pavement, side by side.
"Yonder." Uncle Billy pointed with his pilgrim's staff. "Half way down
the square where them men are settin' tilted back talkin' hard
times--that's what they're doin' if I can't hear 'em. I know ever'
blessed one of 'em from here. See the place? Got a big red hoss painted
over the door. Ask for Steve Duncan or Lige Lane--they run it, 'n' are
good men. Say I sent you. Yonder's my nag, hitched to that lamp post."
The pilgrim's staff came swinging vigorously around to do its duty as an
index, and caught Mr. Devil Marston's hat midway, knocking it into the
dust of the gutter, where it rolled over a few times as knocked-off hats
invariably do. The victim of this harmless accident would not, under
ordinary circumstances, have taken it lightly. Mr. Hoonover made a
motion to recover the property he had unintentionally mistreated, but
Marston, cat-like, had the hat in his hands, brushing it with his
sleeve, before Uncle Billy's wits could fully take in the situation.
"Mind what you're about, you damned old buzzard!" he gritted, his small
eyes glinting wickedly. "If you've got to carry a fishing pole around
with you why don't you stay in the cornfield, where you belong?"
Uncle Billy's booted feet began to go up and down. His straggling
whiskers trembled from anger and he combed them with restless fingers as
he fired back--
"I didn't go to do it, 'n' I's goin' to pick it up for you,
you--you--you son of a nigger!"
A big brown fist came like a lightning bolt at the old fellow's
convulsed face, but swifter yet was Glenning's stroke which threw up the
threatening arm, and this was followed by another which sent the burly
form reeling, though it did not fall. Then as John dragged Uncle Billy
into the little passageway at the foot of the stair some men came
running towards the scene. They arrived in time to lay restraining hands
upon Marston, who had his revolver out and was advancing to renew the
trouble. By main force they held him for a time, until he had become
calmer, and it was big Joe Colver who took his pistol from him and told
him he would be arrested if he did not go on his way peaceably, and at
once. This he reluctantly consented to do, and the judge walked with him
to the bank, which he entered.
While this was going on, John had literally held Uncle Billy captive.
The touchy old man's ire was aflame at its highest pitch, and he wanted
to fight. When the coast was clear John reminded him of the urgent need
which called them to the country, and escorted him to his buggy. Then,
assuring him that he would return immediately, and begging him to remain
in his buggy, Glenning hastily sought the livery stable. While he was
waiting for his horse to be gotten ready he saw, diagonally across the
street, a brick building with the words Macon National Bank, in large
letters over the door.