STRANGERS IN TOWN
It was several days before the people of Cardiff were done talking about
the bob sled race, and it was much longer ere the boys of the crew and
Roger and Adrian got beyond telling each other their feelings at the
various stages of the perilous journey. Mr. Kimball was proud of his
son's achievement, and Mrs. Kimball was thankful no one had been hurt.
So the memorable contest passed into local history, and no doubt if you
should go to Cardiff now, you would learn all about it much better than
it is told here.
Winter now settled down over the valley, and it was a severe season, as
Roger found. Yet, though it was much colder than ever he had known it to
be in New York, the lower temperature did not affect him so much as the
frosty weather at home, since the atmosphere was a dry one, differing in
this respect from the penetrating damp cold of the region near the
Atlantic.
Thanksgiving came, with its feasting, its gathering of old friends and
relatives about the fireside, and all its happiness, and Roger thought
it was the jolliest holiday of the year. Never was there such a big,
crisp-brown roasted turkey, never so much cranberry sauce, never such
stacks of white celery, never such good gravy, such sweet hickory nuts,
such white popcorn, such rosy-cheeked apples, nor such fine cider. The
meal lasted all day, and at night every one voted they had enough to
last them a week.
December saw Cardiff snowbound, and for a week the village was cut off
from communication with the other towns because of the big drifts that
filled the valley. Christmas brought the usual joys, and Roger was well
remembered by the folks at home. There was a welcome letter, also, from
his father, in which Mr. Anderson said how glad he was that his son's
health was improving so rapidly. Then there was a box that contained
some books that he had long wished for and a bright five-dollar
gold-piece.
The new year came, and winter, with all its old-fashioned severity, held
Cardiff tight and fast. It snowed, and snowed, and snowed again.
Then there was nothing to do but stay in the house, or after a trip to
the barn and the finishing of the chores to journey to the village
store. Adrian began to attend school, and occasionally Roger went with
him, to sit in the classroom, and listen to the recitations. But there
was plenty of time before and after school, for fun. The two boys went
coasting and skating, and it was at these sports Roger found he had much
to learn from his cousin and the other country boys, who could glide
along over the frozen mill pond, from morning until night, and never
seem to tire.
"Wa'al," remarked Mr. Kimball, as he came home from Hank Mack's store,
one cold night, stamping the snow from his boots in the wood-shed,
"wa'al, I hope it's cloudy t'-morrow."
"Why?" asked Roger, who thought the more sun there was in winter the
better it must be.
"Why? So's thi' b'ar won't see his shadder."
"What if he does see his shadow?"
"Land a' Goshen, th' boy never hearn tell a' Candlemas Day," ejaculated
Mr. Kimball. "You see," he explained, "there's an ole sayin' 'n' I got
it from my granddad, thet goes suthin' like this: Candlemas Day, half
yer pork, 'n' half yer hay.' Thet means, 'cordin' t' my way a' thinkin'
thet t'-morrow's 'bout th' middle a' winter, 'n' a keerful farmer'll
only hev half his produce eat up. Ye know b'ars go inter holler logs t'
sleep all winter. Come February second, which is Candlemas Day, there's
a theory they come out t' see how th' weather is.
"Ef th' sun shines so's t' throw a shadder on th' ground, it skeers th'
b'ar so, he skedaddles back inter his holler log, 'n' sleeps fer six
weeks more, durin' which time we hev winter. But, ef th' sun don't
shine, 'n' thar ain't no shadder, th' b'ar's satisfied. He don't git
skeered, 'n' only goes back in his log fer four weeks more sleep, which
means an early spring. So ye see why I don't want th' sun t' shine
t'-morrow."
"I see," laughed Roger, as Mr. Kimball finished his explanation. "Will
you have half your pork and half your hay left by to-morrow?"
"I calalate so," responded Mr. Kimball, "I calalate so."
The sun didn't shine next day, and Mr. Kimball was happy. For the
following few days it snowed, and Roger began to feel that there would
be several months more of winter, instead of the proverbial four weeks,
but his uncle didn't seem to worry.
Whether it was due to the bear's action or not, there was an early
spring that year. The bluebirds came about the middle of March, and
farmers began their plowing several weeks ahead of the usual time. Every
one was glad that winter was over, though Roger and the other boys in
Cardiff had enjoyed it very much, and many of them wished for a second
contest with the bobs down Lafayette hill. Gradually the days got
warmer, and the damp earth gave out a pleasant odor that promised a
ready sprouting of the seeds.
One pleasant evening toward the end of April, when the sun peeped out,
just before setting, after a smart little shower, Roger went to the
post-office, to wait for the stage to come in with the mail. Adrian was
not with him, for he had some chores to do, and of late Roger had fallen
into the habit of going to the village alone occasionally.
He sat on the steps of Hank Mack's general store, which also contained
the post-office, talking with several boys, whose acquaintance he had
made since he arrived in Cardiff.
"There she comes," cried Frank Dobbs, as he pointed to a moving object
half a mile away. Roger looked and saw the stage, which advanced rapidly
and in a few minutes drew up at the steps with a flourish. Porter
Amidown jumped off, lugging the heavy mail bag into the little room
partitioned off from the main store, where the letters and papers would
be sorted and put in the different boxes.
Most of the boys followed Porter inside, but Roger lingered on the steps
to see if the stage brought any passengers. He saw Enberry Took alight
from the driver's high seat, and the boy nodded to him. Then from inside
the vehicle two men got out. One was an elderly gentleman, bearing a
valise of which he seemed to take great care. His companion was younger,
and, when he had stepped out he lifted after him a long, three-legged
instrument, of the kind Roger had often seen surveyors use. The younger
man also carried a small satchel, which he handled as if it contained
something of value.
"Where's the hotel; that is, Crownheart's hotel?" asked the younger man
of Roger, who just then was the only person at hand.
"Right over there, sir," pointing to the single inn of which the village
boasted, and which stood a little way up the hill, beyond the
post-office.
"Thanks, my boy," said the inquirer. Then to his companion, "This way,
Mr. Dudley. It doesn't look very promising, to be sure, but then, you
know, you never can tell by the looks of a toad how far it can jump. I
guess we can stand it for a night or two, until we find out whether
there is any truth in this report or not," and the two men started
toward the Pine Tree Inn, as Abe Crownheart called his hotel.
Roger stood looking at the strangers for a minute, wondering what their
object might be in coming to Cardiff with their instrument and the
valises, and he puzzled over the younger man's last words. Then
dismissing the matter from his mind, he went in for the mail. When he
found a letter for him from home, he was so delighted that he forgot all
about the two new arrivals.
Abe Crownheart was considerably surprised when Mr. Dudley and Mr.
Ranquist, as the men introduced themselves, appeared at his hotel and
asked for accommodations.
"I suppose we can have a bed," suggested Mr. Dudley.
"And something to eat, don't forget that," put in Mr. Ranquist. "That
twelve-mile stage journey has given me a tremendous appetite."
"Wa'al," began Mr. Crownheart, slowly, as if trying to think of
something to say,--"wa'al, t' be honest 'ith ye, we don't hev much call
fer lodgins fer man 'n' beast here. Cou'se I kin guv ye suthin' t' eat,
but th' bed--um--d' ye mind both sleepin' in th' same room?"
"We would prefer it, if there are separate beds," said Mr. Dudley.
"I guess Mrs. Crownheart kin fix ye up then. Ye see we ain't very strong
on sleepin' quarters, 'ceptin' fer our own family. Last time we hed
boarders were quite a number a' years ago, in fact when th' Cardiff
giant were first diskivered. I s'pose ye hearn tell a' thet," and he
paused for an answer.
Mr. Dudley nodded.
"Yep," went on Abe, "th' figger were diskivered right acrost th' valley
here, 'n' I boarded some a' th' men what were exhibitin' it. I recollect
how--"
"I dare say," broke in Mr. Dudley, shortly, "I have heard considerable
about that giant fraud, and some future day I will be glad to discuss
the various features of it with you, but now, my dear Mr. Crowhead--"
"Crownheart, sir, that's my name,--Crownheart, not Crowhead," said Abe,
a little nettled. "It's right on the sign."
"Oh, yes, to be sure, Crownheart, I beg your pardon, exceedingly stupid
of me. No offence, I assure you, my eyesight is not as good as it once
was."
"Least said soonest mended," answered Mr. Crownheart, smiling
good-naturedly. "Thet giant--"
"I was about to suggest," broke in Mr. Dudley once more, "that if it was
all the same to you, Mr. Crownheart, Mr. Ranquist and I would go to our
room, and get ready for supper, which at the present time is something I
would rather discuss than any number of stone giants."
"If you'll kindly allow us to register, we'll go upstairs, I think,"
said Mr. Ranquist.
"Wa'al, 's I were sayin'," went on Mr. Crownheart, apparently not
heeding the suggestions, "we ain't been called on t' lodge anybody sence
th' giant were dug up. Howsomever, I guess I kin accommodate ye.
Supper's a leetle easier t' figger out than th' beddin' question. A
meal is suthin' we kin rassal 'ith t' some advantage."
"Shall we register?" asked Mr. Dudley, getting a little impatient. "We
don't know how long we may stay. Probably a week."
"Wa'al, we ain't in th' habit a' havin' folks register," said the
inn-keeper. "To be honest 'ith ye, I don't know's we got any convenience
fer it. Uster be a book 'round here sommers, but I swan I don't know
what's become of it. Prob'ly th' boys hev used it t' keep th' score a'
their cribbage games in. Here, scribble yer names down on thet, 'n' ef I
come acrost th' book some day, I'll fill 'em in. 'T ain't no ways
particular, anyhow," and he shoved over a bit of rough brown
wrapping-paper, on which his guests wrote their names, adding after
them, "New York City."
"From N' York, eh?" said Mr. Crownheart, looking at what the two men had
put down. "Wa'al, we've got another N' Yorker here."
"You don't say so," began Mr. Dudley, eagerly, "who is he, an engin--"
and he stopped suddenly, as his companion nudged him warningly.
"Why, he's Bert Kimball's nephew," said Mr. Crownheart. "Mebby ye seen
th' lad. He were 'ith a lot a' others on th' steps a' th' post-office,
waitin' fer th' stage t' come in."
"Oh, yes, that must have been the boy who showed us your hotel," said
Mr. Ranquist, quickly, and Mr. Dudley appeared much relieved.
"He's up here fer his health," went on Abe. "Cardiff's healthy 'nuff fer
anybody. Be you two out here fer thet, or be ye surveyin' fer a
railroad?" and the inn-keeper looked significantly at the instrument Mr.
Ranquist had.
"Well, we heard this village was a healthy place," put in Mr. Dudley,
the older man, "and so we thought we'd come and see for ourselves. We
might do a little surveying also, but whether for a railroad or not
isn't for us to say. Suppose you show us to our room now."
"All right," answered Mr. Crownheart, a little miffed that his guests
had not declared their business in response to his gentle hint. "Jest
come along. 'T ain't fixed up yet, but I'll hev it 'tended t' right
away," and he led the men to the upper floor.
At the supper table that evening Roger recalled the arrival of the two
strangers in the stage, and remarked casually to his uncle that Mr.
Crownheart had some one at his hotel at last.
"I saw them come in and showed them where to go," said Roger, detailing
the circumstances.
"I wonder what they want?" remarked Mr. Kimball, in a musing tone.
"Don't seem 's ef any railroad 'd run out here, yet ye say they hed a
surveyor's three-legged contraption with 'em, Roger. Wa'al, I don't
know's it concerns me any, 'less they want t' buy some a' my land, so's
I could git money t' meet thet ole mortgage 'ith. I've got a hard
scrabble ahead a' me," and the farmer's face took on a worried look,
just as on the night when he received the letter containing the bad
news about the loss of his savings.
Yet, though Mr. Kimball did not know it, the arrival of the two
strangers was destined to be of considerable concern and importance to
him, and that not very far distant.