PECULIAR PEOPLE
Old Swallowtail came home at about four o'clock in the afternoon. The
day was hot, yet the old man seemed neither heated nor wearied. Without
a word to his daughter or Ingua he drew a chair to the little shady
porch and sat down in their company. Nan was mending her child's old
frock; Ingua sat thinking.
For half an hour, perhaps, silence was maintained by all. Then Nan
turned and asked:
"Have you covered your tracks?"
He turned his glassy, expressionless eyes toward her.
"My tracks, as you call them," said he, "have been laid for forty years
or more. They are now ruts. I cannot obliterate them in a day."
The woman studied his face thoughtfully.
"You are not worrying over your probable arrest?"
"No."
"Then it's all right," said she, relieved. "You're a foxy old rascal,
Dad, and you've held your own for a good many years. I guess you don't
need more than a word of warning."
He made no reply, his eyes wandering along the path to the bridge. Mary
Louise was coming their way, walking briskly. Her steps slowed a bit as
she drew nearer, but she said in an eager voice:
"Oh, Mrs. Scammel, Josie has told me you are here and who you are.
Isn't it queer how lives get tangled up? But I remember you with
gratitude and kindliest thoughts, because you were so considerate of my
dear Gran'pa Jim. And to think that you are really Ingua's mother!"
Nan rose and took the girl's hands in her own.
"I fear I've been a bad mother to my kid," she replied, "but I thought
she was all right with her grandfather and happy here. I shall look
after her better in the future."
Mary Louise bowed to Mr. Cragg, who nodded his head in acknowledgment.
Then she sat down beside Ingua.
"Are you plannin' to take me away from here, Mama?" asked the child.
"Wouldn't you rather be with me than with your grandfather?" returned
Nan with a smile.
"I dunno," said Ingua seriously. "You're a detective, an' I don't like
detections. You ain't much like a mother to me, neither, ner I don't
know much about you. I dunno yet whether I'm goin' to like you or not."
A wave of color swept over Nan's face; Mary Louise was shocked; the old
man turned his inscrutable gaze down the path once more.
"I like it here," continued the child, musingly: "Gran'dad makes me
work, but he don't bother me none 'cept when the devils get, hold o'
him. I 'member that you git the devils, too, once in awhile, Marm, an'
they're about as fierce as Gran'dad's is. An' I gets 'em 'cause I'm a
Cragg like the rest o' you, an' devils seem to be in the Cragg blood.
I've a notion it's easier to stand the devils in the country here, than
in the city where you live."
Nan didn't know whether to be amused or angry.
"Yet you tried to run away once," she reminded Ingua, "and it was Mary
Louise who stopped you. You told me of this only an hour ago.
"Didn't I say the devils pick on _me_ sometimes?" demanded the girl.
"An' Mary Louise was right. She fought the devils for me, and I'm glad
she did, 'cause I've had a good time with her ever since," and she
pressed Mary Louise's hand gratefully.
Her child's frankness was indeed humiliating to Nan Scammel, who was by
no means a bad woman at heart and longed to win the love and respect of
her little girl. Ingua's frank speech had also disturbed Mary Louise,
and made her sorry for both the child and her mother. Old Swallowtail's
eyes lingered a moment on Ingua's ingenuous countenance but he
exhibited no emotion whatever.
"You're a simple little innocent," remarked Nan to Ingua, after a
strained pause. "You know so little of the world that your judgment is
wholly unformed. I've a notion to take you to Washington and buy you a
nice outfit of clothes--like those of Mary Louise, you know--and put
you into a first-class girls' boarding-school. Then you'll get
civilized, and perhaps amount to something."
"I'd like that," said Ingua, with a first display of enthusiasm; "but
who'd look after Gran'dad?"
"Why, we must provide for Dad in some way, of course," admitted Nan
after another pause. "I can afford to hire a woman to keep house for
him, if I hold my present job. I suppose he has a hoard of money hidden
somewhere, but that's no reason he wouldn't neglect himself and starve
if left alone. And, if he's really poor, I'm the one to help him. How
does that arrangement strike you, Ingua?"
"It sounds fine," replied the girl, "but any woman that'd come _here_
to work, an' would stan' Gran'dad's devils, wouldn't amount to much,
nohow. If we're goin' to move to the city," she added with a sigh,
"let's take Gran'dad with us."
This conversation was becoming too personal for Mary Louise to endure
longer. They talked of Mr. Cragg just as if he were not present,
ignoring him as he ignored them. With an embarrassed air Mary Louise
rose.
"I must go now," said she. "I just ran over to welcome you, Mrs.
Scammel, and to ask you and Ingua to dine with us to-morrow night. Will
you come? Josie O'Gorman is with us, you know, and I believe you are
old friends."
Nan hesitated a moment.
"Thank you," she replied, "we'll be glad to come. You've been mighty
good to my little girl and I am grateful. Please give my regards to
Colonel Hathaway."
When Mary Louise had gone the three lapsed into silence again. Ingua
was considering, in her childish but practical way, the proposed
changes in her life. The mother was trying to conquer her annoyance at
the child's lack of filial affection, tacitly admitting that the blame
was not Ingua's. The old man stared at the path. Whatever his thoughts
might be he displayed no hint of their nature.
Presently there appeared at the head of the path, by the bridge, the
form of a stranger, a little man who came on with nervous, mincing
steps. He was dressed in dandified fashion, with tall silk hat, a
gold-headed cane and yellow kid gloves. Almost had he reached the
porch when suddenly he stopped short, looked around in surprise and
ejaculated:
"Bless me--bless me! I--I've made a mistake. This is a private path to
your house. No thoroughfare. Dear me, what an error; an unpardonable
error. I hope you will excuse me--I--I hope so!"
"To be sure we will," replied Nan with a laugh, curiously eyeing the
dapper little man. "The only way out, sir, is back by the bridge."
"Thank you. Thank you very much," he said earnestly. "I--I am indulging
in a stroll and--and my mind wandered, as did my feet. I--I am an
invalid in search of rest. Thank you. Good afternoon."
He turned around and with the same mincing, regular steps retreated
along the path. At the bridge he halted as if undecided, but finally
continued along the country road past the Kenton Place.
Ingua laughed delightedly at the queer man. Nan smiled. Old Swallowtail
had altered neither his position nor his blank expression.
"He's a queer fish, ain't he?" remarked the girl. "He's pretty lively
for an invalid what's lookin' for rest. I wonder when he landed, an'
where he's stoppin'."
Something in the child's remark made Nan thoughtful. Presently she laid
down her work and said:
"I believe I'll take a little walk, myself, before dark. Want to go
along, Ingua?"
Ingua was ready. She had on her new dress and hoped they might meet
someone whom she knew. They wandered toward the town, where most of the
inhabitants were sitting out of doors--a Sunday afternoon custom. Jim
Bennett, in his shirtsleeves, was reading a newspaper in front of the
postoffice; Sol Jerrems and his entire family occupied the platform
before the store, which was of course locked; Nance Milliker was
playing the organ in the brown house around the corner, and in front of
the hotel sat Mary Ann Hopper in her rocking-chair.
Nan strolled the length of the street, startling those natives who had
formerly known her, Ingua nodded and smiled at everyone. Mary Ann
Hopper called, as they passed her: "Hullo, Ingua. Where'd ye git the
new duds?"
"Miss Huckins made 'em," answered Ingua proudly.
"I guess I'll go and shake hands with Mrs. Hopper," said Nan. "Don't
you remember me, Mary Ann? I'm Nan Cragg."
"Gee! so y'are," exclaimed Mary Ann wonderingly. "We all 'spicioned you
was dead, long ago."
"I'm home for a visit. You folks seem prosperous. How's business?"
"Pretty good. We got a new boarder to-day, a feller with bum nerves who
come from the city. Gee! but he's togged out t' kill. Got money, too,
an' ain't afraid to spend it. He paid Dad in advance."
"That's nice," said Nan. "What's his name?"
"It's a funny name, but I can't remember it. Ye kin see it on the
register."
Nan went inside, leaving Ingua with Mary Ann, and studied the name on
the register long and closely.
"No," she finally decided, "Lysander isn't calculated to arouse
suspicion. He wears a wig, I know, but that is doubtless due to vanity
and not a disguise. I at first imagined it was someone O'Gorman had
sent down here to help Josie, but none of our boys would undertake such
a spectacular personation, bound to attract attention. This fellow will
become the laughing-stock of the whole town and every move he makes
will be observed. I'm quite sure there is nothing dangerous in the
appearance here of Mr. Lysander Antonius Sinclair."
She chatted a few minutes with Mrs. Hopper, whom she found in the
kitchen, and then she rejoined Ingua and started homeward. Scarcely
were mother and child out of sight when Mr. Sinclair came mincing along
from an opposite direction and entered the hotel. He went to his room
but soon came down and in a querulous voice demanded his omelet,
thanking the landlady again and again for promising it in ten minutes.
He amused them all very much, stating that an omelet for an evening
meal was "an effective corrective of tired nerves" and would enable him
to sleep soundly all night.
"I sleep a great deal," he announced after he had finished his supper
and joined Mr. Hopper on the porch. "When I have smoked a cigar--in
which luxury I hope you will join me, sir--I shall retire to my couch
and rest in the arms of Morpheus until the brilliant sun of another day
floods the countryside."
"P'r'aps it'll rain," suggested the landlord.
"Then Nature's tears will render us sweetly sympathetic."
He offered his cigar case to Mr. Hopper, who recognized a high priced
cigar and helped himself.
"Didn't see anything to make ye nervous, durin' yer walk, did ye?" he
inquired, lighting the weed.
"Very little. It seems a nice, quiet place. Only once was I annoyed. I
stumbled into a private path, just before I reached the river, and--and
had to apologize."
"Must 'a' struck Ol' Swallertail's place," remarked the landlord.
"Old Swallowtail? Old Swallowtail? And who is he?" queried the
stranger.
Hopper was a born gossip, and if there was any one person he loved to
talk of and criticize and "pick to pieces" it was Old Swallowtail. So
he rambled on for a half hour, relating the Cragg history in all its
details, including the story of Ingua and Ingua's mother, Nan Cragg,
who had married some unknown chap named Scammel, who did not long
survive the ceremony.
Mr. Sinclair listened quietly, seeming to enjoy his cigar more than he
did the Cragg gossip. He asked no questions, letting the landlord
ramble on as he would, and finally, when Hopper had exhausted his fund
of fact and fiction, which were about evenly mixed, his guest bade him
good night and retired to his private room.
"It ain't eight o'clock, yet," said the landlord to his wife, "but a
feller with nerves is best asleep. An' when he's asleep he won't waste
our kerosene."
No, Mr. Sinclair didn't waste the Hopper kerosene. He had a little
pocket arrangement which supplied him with light when, an hour before
midnight, he silently rose, dressed himself and prepared to leave the
hotel. He was not attired in what Mary Ann called his "glad rags" now,
but in a dark gray suit of homespun that was nearly the color of the
night. The blond wig was carefully locked in a suit case, a small black
cap was drawn over his eyes, and thus--completely transformed--Mr.
Hopper's guest had no difficulty in gaining the street without a
particle of noise betraying him to the family of his host.
He went to the postoffice, pried open a window, unlocked the mail bag
that was ready for Jim Bennett to carry to the morning train at
Chargrove and from it abstracted a number of letters which he unsealed
and read with great care. They had all been written and posted by
Hezekiah Cragg. The man spent a couple of hours here, resealing the
envelopes neatly and restoring them to the mail bag, after which, he
attached the padlock and replaced the bag in exactly its former
position. When he had left the little front room which was devoted by
the Bennetts to the mail service, the only evidence of his visit was a
bruised depression beside the window-sash which was quite likely to
escape detection.
After this the stranger crept through the town and set off at a brisk
pace toward the west, taking the road over the bridge and following it
to the connecting branch and thence to the lane. A half hour later he
was standing in old Cragg's stone lot and another hour was consumed
among the huge stones by the hillside--the place where Josie had
discovered the entrance to the underground cave. Mr. Sinclair did not
discover the entrance, however, so finally he returned to town and
mounted the stairs beside Sol Jerrem's store building to the upper
hallway.
In five minutes he was inside of Cragg's outer office; in another five
minutes he had entered the inner office. There he remained until the
unmistakable herald of dawn warned him to be going. However, when he
left the building there was no visible evidence of his visit. He was in
his own room and in bed long before Mrs. Hopper gave a final snore and
wakened to light the kitchen fire and prepare for the duties of the
day.