AVIATION AND AVARICE
Breakfast at Capt. Sol Berry's was a bountiful meal. The depot master
employed a middle-aged woman who came in each day, cooked his meals and
did the housework, returning to her own home at night. After Mr. Wingate
had mowed a clean swath through ham and eggs, cornbread and coffee,
and had reached the cooky and doughnut stage, he condescended to speak
further concerning the stolen paper.
“Well,” he said, “Brown give me and Jonadab a serious talkin' to when he
got us alone.”
“'Now, fellers,' he says, 'we know what we've got to do. Nothin'll be
too good for this shebang and us if we get that agreement back. Fust
place, the thing was done a few minutes after the supper-bell rung.
That is, unless that 'Enry is in on the deal, which ain't unlikely,
considerin' the price he could get from the Gordon gang. Was anybody
late at the tables?'
“Why, yes; there were quite a few late. Two of the 'gunners,' who'd been
on a forlorn-hope duck hunt; and a minister and his wife, out walkin'
for their health; and Parker and two fellers from the football team,
who'd been practicin'.
“'Any of the waiters or the chambermaids?' asked Peter.
“I'd been expectin' he'd ask that, and I hated to answer.
“'One of the waiters was a little late,' says I. 'Willie wa'n't on hand
immediate. Said he went to wash his hands.'
“Now the help gen'rally washed in the fo'castle--the servants'
quarters, I mean--but there was a wash room on the floor where the
Sterzer-Robinsons roomed. Peter looked at Jonadab, and the two of 'em at
me. And I had to own up that Willie had come downstairs from that wash
room a few minutes after the bell rung.
“'Hum!' says Peter T. 'Hum!' he says. 'Look here, Barzilla, didn't you
tell me you knew that feller's real name, and that he had been studying
law?'
“'No,' says I, emphatic. 'I said 'twas law he was tryin' to get away
from. His tastes run large to literation and poetry.'
“'Hum!' says Peter again. 'All papers are more or less literary--even
trust agreements. Hum!'
“'All the same,' says I, 'I'll bet my Sunday beaver that HE never took
it.'
“They didn't answer, but looked solemn. Then the three of us went on
watch.
“Nobody made a move to go out that evenin'. I kept whatever mail was
handed in, but there was nothin' that looked like any agreements,
and nothin' addressed to Gordon or his lawyers. At twelve or so, the
detective come. Peter drove up to the depot to meet the special. He told
the whole yarn on the way down.
“The detective was a nice enough chap, and we agreed he should be 'Mr.
Snow,' of New York, gunnin' for health and ducks. He said the watch must
be kept up all night, and in the mornin' he'd make his fust move. So
said, so done.
“And afore breakfast that next mornin' we called everybody into the
dinin' room, boarders, help, stable hands, every last one. And Peter
made a little speech. He said that a very valuable paper had been taken
out of Mr. Robinson's room, and 'twas plain that it must be on the
premises somewhere. 'Course, nobody was suspicioned, but, speakin'
for himself, he'd feel better if his clothes and his room was searched
through. How'd the rest feel about it?
“Well, they felt diff'rent ways, but Parker spoke up like a brick, and
said he wouldn't rest easy till HIS belongin's was pawed over, and then
the rest fell in line. We went through everybody and every room on the
place. Found nothin', of course. Snow--the detective--said he didn't
expect to. But I tell you there was some talkin' goin' on, just the
same. The minister, he hinted that he had some doubts about them
dissipated gunners; and the gunners cal'lated they never see a parson
yet wouldn't bear watchin'. As for me, I felt like a pickpocket, and,
judgin' from Jonadab's face, he felt the same.
“The detective man swooped around quiet, bobbin' up in unexpected
places, like a porpoise, and askin' questions once in a while. He asked
about most everybody, but about Willie, especial. I judged Peter T. had
dropped a hint to him and to Gabe. Anyhow, the old critter give out
that he wouldn't trust a poet with the silver handles on his grandmarm's
coffin. As for Grace, she acted dreadful nervous and worried. Once I
caught her swabbin' her eyes, as if she'd been cryin'; but I'd never
seen her and Willie together but the one time I told you of.
“Four days and nights crawled by. No symptoms yet. The Pinkertons was
watchin' the Gordon lawyers' office in New York, and they reported
that nothin' like that agreement had reached there. And our own
man--Snow--said he'd go bail it hadn't been smuggled off the premises
sense HE struck port. So 'twas safe so far; but where was it, and who
had it?
“The final football game, the one with Wapatomac, was to be played over
on their grounds on the afternoon of the fifth day. Parker, cap'n of the
eleven, give out that, considerin' everything, he didn't know but we'd
better call it off. Old Robinson--Sterzer, of course--wouldn't hear of
it.
“'Not much,' says he. 'I wouldn't chance your losin' that game for forty
papers. You sail in and lick 'em!' or words to that effect.
“So the eleven was to cruise across the bay in the Greased Lightnin',
Peter's little motor launch, and the rooters was to go by train later
on. 'Twas Parker's idee, goin' in the launch. 'Twould be more quiet,
less strain on the nerves of his men, and they could talk over plays and
signals on the v'yage.
“So at nine o'clock in the forenoon they was ready, the whole
team--three waiters, two fishermen, one carpenter from up to Wellmouth
Center, a stable hand, and Parker and three reg'lar boarders. These last
three was friends of Parker's that he'd had come down some time afore.
He knew they could play football, he said, and they'd come to oblige
him.
“The eleven gathered on the front porch, all in togs and sweaters,
principally provided and paid for by Sterzer. Cap'n Parker had the ball
under his arm, and the launch was waitin' ready at the landin'. All the
boarders--except Grace, who was upstairs in her room--and most of the
help was standin' round to say good luck and good-by.
“Snow, the detective, was there, and I whispered in his ear.
“'Say,' I says, 'do you realize that for the fust time since the robbery
here's a lot of folks leavin' the house? How do you know but what--'
“He winked and nodded brisk. 'I'll attend to that,' he says.
“But he didn't have to. Parker spoke fust, and took the wind out of his
sails.
“'Gentlemen,' says he, 'I don't know how the rest of you feel, but, as
for me, I don't start without clear skirts. I suggest that Mr. Brown and
Mr. Wingate here search each one of us, thoroughly. Who knows,' says he,
laughin', 'but what I've got that precious stolen paper tucked inside my
sweater? Ha! ha! Come on, fellers! I'll be first.'
“He tossed the ball into a chair and marched into the office, the
rest of the players after him, takin' it as a big joke. And there the
searchin' was done, and done thorough, 'cause Peter asked Mr. Snow to
help, and he knew how. One thing was sure; Pa Gabe's agreement wa'n't
hid about the persons of that football team. Everybody laughed--that is,
all but the old man and the detective. Seemed to me that Snow was kind
of disappointed, and I couldn't see why. 'Twa'n't likely any of THEM was
thieves.
“Cap'n Parker picked up his football and started off for the launch.
He'd got about ha'fway to the shore when Willie--who'd been stand-in'
with the rest of the help, lookin' on--stepped for'ard pretty brisk and
whispered in the ear of the Pinkerton man. The detective jumped, sort
of, and looked surprised and mighty interested.
“'By George!' says he. 'I never thought of that.' Then he run to the
edge of the piazza and called.
“'Mr. Parker!' he sings out. 'Oh, Mr. Parker!'
“Parker was at the top of the little rise that slopes away down to the
landin'. The rest of the eleven was scattered from the shore to the
hotel steps. He turns, without stoppin', and answers.
“'What is it?' he sings out, kind of impatient.
“'There's just one thing we forgot to look at,' shouts Snow. 'Merely a
matter of form, but just bring that--Hey! Stop him! Stop him!'
“For Parker, instead of comin' back, had turned and was leggin' it for
the launch as fast as he could, and that was some.
“'Stop!' roars the Pinkerton man, jumpin' down the steps. 'Stop, or--'
“'Hold him, Jim!' screeched Parker, over his shoulder. One of the
biggest men on the eleven--one of the three 'friends' who'd been so
obligin' as to come down on purpose to play football--made a dive,
caught the detective around the waist, and threw him flat.
“'Go on, Ed!' he shouts. 'I've got him, all right.'
“Ed--meanin' Parker--was goin' on, and goin' fast. All hands seemed
to be frozen stiff, me and Jonadab and Peter T. included. As for me, I
couldn't make head nor tail of the doin's; things was comin' too quick
for MY understandin'.
“But there was one on that piazza who wa'n't froze. Fur from it! Willie,
the poet waiter, made a jump, swung his long legs over the porch-rail,
hit the ground, and took after that Parker man like a cat after a field
mouse.
“Run! I never see such runnin'! He fairly flashed across that lawn and
over the rise. Parker was almost to the landin'; two more jumps and he'd
been aboard the launch. If he'd once got aboard, a turn of the switch
and that electric craft would have had him out of danger in a shake. But
them two jumps was two too many. Willie riz off the ground like a flyin'
machine, turned his feet up and his head down, and lapped his arms
around Parker's knees. Down the pair of 'em went 'Ker-wallop!' and the
football flew out of Parker's arms.
“In an eyewink that poet was up, grabs the ball, and comes tearin' back
toward us.
“'Stop him!' shrieks Parker from astern.
“'Head him off! Tackle him!' bellers the big chap who was hangin' onto
the detective.
“They tell me that discipline and obeyin' orders is as much in football
as 'tis aboard ship. If that's so, every one of the Old Home House
eleven was onto their jobs. There was five men between Willie and the
hotel, and they all bore down on him like bats on a June bug.
“'Get him!' howls Parker, racin' to help.
“'Down him!' chimes in big Jim, his knee in poor Snow's back.
“'Run, Bearse! Run!' whoops the Pinkerton man, liftin' his mouth out of
the sand.
“He run--don't you worry about that! Likewise he dodged. One chap
swooped at him, and he ducked under his arms. Another made a dive, and
he jumped over him. The third one he pushed one side with his hand.
'Pushed!' did I say? 'Knocked' would be better, for the feller--the
carpenter 'twas--went over and over like a barrel rollin' down hill. But
there was two more left, and one of 'em was bound to have him.
“Then a window upstairs banged open.
“'Oh, Mr. Bearse!' screamed a voice--Grace Sterzer's voice. 'Don't let
them get you!'
“We all heard her, in spite of the shoutin' and racket. Willie heard
her, too. The two fellers, one at each side, was almost on him, when
he stopped, looked up, jumped back, and, as cool as a rain barrel in
January, he dropped that ball and kicked it.
“I can see that picture now, like a tableau at a church sociable. The
fellers that was runnin', the others on the ground, and that literary
pie passer with his foot swung up to his chin.
“And the ball! It sailed up and up in a long curve, began to drop,
passed over the piazza roof, and out of sight.
“'Lock your door, Miss Sterzer,' sung out Fred Bearse--'Willie' for
short. 'Lock your door and keep that ball. I think your father's paper
is inside it.'
“As sure as my name is Barzilla Wingate, he had kicked that football
straight through the open window into old Gabe's room.”
The depot master whooped and slapped his knee. Mr. Wingate grinned
delightedly and continued:
“There!” he went on, “the cat's out of the bag, and there ain't much
more to tell. Everybody made a bolt for the room, old Gabe and Peter
T. in the lead. Grace let her dad in, and the ball was ripped open in a
hurry. Sure enough! Inside, between the leather and the rubber, was
the missin' agreement. Among the jubilations and praise services nobody
thought of much else until Snow, the Pinkerton man, come upstairs, his
clothes tore and his eyes and nose full of sand.
“'Humph!' says he. 'You've got it, hey? Good! Well, you haven't got
friend Parker. Look!'
“Such of us as could looked out of the window. There was the launch,
with Parker and his three 'friends' in it, headin' two-forty for blue
water.
“'Let 'em go,' says old Gabe, contented. 'I wouldn't arrest 'em if I
could. This is no police-station job.'
“It come out afterwards that Parker was a young chap just from law
school, who had gone to work for the firm of shysters who was attendin'
to the Gordon interests. They had tracked Sterzer to the Old Home House,
and had put their new hand on the job of gettin' that agreement. Fust
he'd tried to shine up to Grace, but the shine--her part of it--had wore
off. Then he decided to steal it; and he done it, just how nobody knows.
Snow, the detective, says he cal'lates Henry, the servant, is wiser'n
most folks thinks, fur's that's concerned.
“Snow had found out about Parker inside of two days. Soon's he got the
report as to who he was, he was morally sartin that he was the thief.
He'd looked up Willie's record, too, and that was clear. In fact, Willie
helped him consider'ble. 'Twas him that recognized Parker, havin' seen
him play on a law-school team. Also 'twas Willie who thought of the
paper bein' in the football.
“Land of love! What a hero they made of that waiter!
“'By the livin' Moses!' bubbles old Gabe, shakin' both the boy's hands.
'That was the finest run and tackle and the finest kick I ever saw
anywhere. I've seen every big game for ten years, and I never saw
anything half so good.'
“The Pinkerton man laughed. 'There's only one chap on earth who can kick
like that. Here he is,' layin' his hand on 'Willie's' shoulder. Bearse,
the All-American half-back last year.'
“Gabe's mouth fell open. 'Not “Bung” Bearse, of Yarvard!' he sings out.
'Why! WHY!'
“'Of course, father!' purrs his daughter, smilin' and happy. 'I knew
him at once. He and I were--er--slightly acquainted when I was at
Highcliffe.'
“'But--but “Bung” Bearse!' gasps the old gent. 'Why, you rascal! I saw
you kick the goal that beat Haleton. Your reputation is worldwide.'
“Willie--Fred Bearse, that is--shook his head, sad and regretful.
“'Thank you, Mr. Sterzer,' says he, in his gentle tenor. 'I have no
desire to be famous in athletics. My aspirations now are entirely
literary.'
“Well, he's got his literary job at last, bein' engaged as sportin'
editor on one of Gabe's papers. His dad, old Sol Bearse, seems to be
pretty well satisfied, partic'lar as another engagement between the
Bearse family and the Sterzers has just been given out.”
Barzilla helped himself to another doughnut. His host leaned back in his
chair and laughed uproariously.
“Well, by the great and mighty!” he exclaimed, “that Willie chap
certainly did fool you, didn't he. You can't always tell about these
college critters. Sometimes they break out unexpected, like chickenpox
in the 'Old Men's Home.' Ha! ha! Say, do you know Nate Scudder?”
“Know him? Course I know him! The meanest man on the Cape, and livin'
right in my own town, too! Well, if I didn't know him I might trust him,
and that would be the beginnin' of the end--for me.”
“It sartin would. But what made me think of him was what he told
me about his nephew, who was a college chap, consider'ble like your
'Willie,' I jedge. Nate and this nephew, Augustus Tolliver, was mixed up
in that flyin'-machine business, you remember.”
“I know they was. Mixed up with that Professor Dixland the papers are
makin' such a fuss over. Wellmouth's been crazy over it all, but it
happened a year ago and nobody that I know of has got the straight
inside facts about it yet. Nate won't talk at all. Whenever you ask him
he busts out swearin' and walks off. His wife's got such a temper that
nobody dared ask her, except the minister. He tried it, and ain't been
the same man since.”
“Well,” the depot master smilingly scratched his chin, “I cal'late I've
got those inside facts.”
“You HAVE?”
“Yes. Nate gave 'em to me, under protest. You see, I know Nate pretty
well. I know some things about him that . . . but never mind that part.
I asked him and, at last, he told me. I'll have to tell you in his
words, 'cause half the fun was the way he told it and the way he looked
at the whole business. So you can imagine I'm Nate, and--”
“'Twill be a big strain on my imagination to b'lieve you're Nate
Scudder, Sol Berry.”
“Thanks. However, you'll have to do it for a spell. Well, Nate said that
it really begun when the Professor and Olivia landed at the Wellmouth
depot with the freight car full of junk. Of course, the actual
beginnin' was further back than that, when that Harmon man come on from
Philadelphy and hunted him up, makin' proclamation that a friend of
his, a Mr. Van Brunt of New York, had said that Scudder had a nice quiet
island to let and maybe he could hire it.
“Course Nate had an island--that little sun-dried sandbank a mile or
so off shore, abreast his house, which we used to call 'Horsefoot Bar.'
That crazy Van Brunt and his chum, Hartley, who lived there along
with Sol Pratt a year or so ago, re-christened it 'Ozone Island,' you
remember. Nate was willin' to let it. He'd let Tophet, if he owned it,
and a fool come along who wanted to hire it and could pay for the rent
and heat.
“So Nate and this Harmon feller rowed over to the Bar--to Ozone Island,
I mean--and the desolation and loneliness of it seemed to suit him to
perfection. So did the old house and big barn and all the tumbledown
buildin's stuck there in the beach-grass and sand. Afore they'd left
they made a dicker. He wa'n't the principal in it. He was the private
secretary and fust mate of Mr. Professor Ansel Hobart Dixland, the
scientist--perhaps Scudder'd heard of him?
“Perhaps he had, but if so, Nate forgot it, though he didn't tell him
that. Harmon ordered a fifteen-foot-high board fence built all around
the house and barn, and made Nate swear not to tell a soul who was
comin' nor anything. Dixland might want the island two months, he said,
or he might want it two years. Nate didn't care. He was in for good
pickin's, and begun to pick by slicin' a liberal commission off that
fencebuildin' job. There was a whole passel of letters back and forth
between Nate and Harmon, and finally Nate got word to meet the victims
at the depot.
“There was the professor himself, an old dried-up relic with whiskers
and a temper; and there was Miss Olivia Dixland, his niece and
housekeeper, a slim, plain lookin' girl, who wore eyeglasses and a
straight up and down dress. And there was a freight car full of crates
and boxes and land knows what all. But nary sign was there of a private
secretary and assistant. The professor told Nate that Mr. Harmon's
health had suddenly broke down and he'd had to be sent South.
“'It's a calamity,' says he; 'a real calamity! Harmon has been with
me in my work from the beginnin'; and now, just as it is approachin'
completion, he is taken away. They say he may die. It is very annoyin'.'
“'Humph!' says Nate. 'Well, maybe it annoys HIM some, too; you can't
tell. What you goin' to do for a secretary?'
“'I understand,' says the professor, 'that there is a person of
consider'ble scientific attainment residin' with you, Mr. Scudder, at
present. Harmon met him while he was here; they were in the same class
at college. Harmon recommended him highly. Olivia,' he says to the
niece, 'what was the name of the young man whom Harmon recommended?'
“'Tolliver, Uncle Ansel,' answers the girl, lookin' kind of disdainful
at Nate. Somehow he had the notion that she didn't take to him fust
rate.
“'Hey?' sings out Nate. 'Tolliver? Why, that's Augustus! AUGUSTUS! well,
I'll be switched!'
“Augustus Tolliver was Nate's nephew from up Boston way. Him and Nate
was livin' together at that time. Huldy Ann, Mrs. Scudder, was out West,
in Omaha, takin' care of a cousin of hers who was a chronic invalid and,
what's more to the purpose, owned a lot of stock in copper mines.
“Augustus was a freckle-faced, spindle-shanked little critter, with
spectacles and a soft, polite way of speakin' that made you want to
build a fire under him to see if he could swear like a Christian. He
had a big head with consider'ble hair on the top of it and nothin'
underneath but what he called 'science' and 'sociology.' His science
wa'n't nothin' but tommy-rot to Nate, and the 'sociology' was some kind
of drivel about everybody bein' equal to everybody else, or better.
'Seemed to think 'twas wrong to get a good price for a thing when you
found a feller soft enough to pay it. Did you ever hear the beat of that
in your life?' says Nate.
“However, Augustus had soaked so much science and sociology into that
weak noddle of his that they kind of made him drunk, as you might say,
and the doctor had sent him down to board with the Scudders and sleep it
off. 'Nervous prostration' was the way he had his symptoms labeled, and
the nerve part was all right, for if a hen flew at him he'd holler and
run. Scart! you never see such a scart cat in your born days. Scart of a
boat, scart of being seasick, scart of a gun, scart of everything! Most
special he was scart of Uncle Nate. The said uncle kept him that way
so's he wouldn't dast to kick at the grub him and Huldy Ann give him, I
guess.
“'Augustus Tolliver,' says old Dixland, noddin'. 'Yes, that is the name.
Has he had a sound scientific trainin'?'
“'Scientific trainin'!' says Nate. 'Scientific trainin'? Why, you bet
he's had it! That's the only kind of trainin' he HAS had. He'll be just
the feller for you, Mr. Dixland.'
“So that was settled, all but notifyin' Augustus. But Scudder sighted
another speculation in the offin', and hove alongside of it.
“'Mr. Harmon, when he was here,' says he, 'he mentioned you needin'
a nice, dependable man to live on the island and be sort of general
roustabout. My wife bein' away just now, and all, it struck me that I
might as well be that man. Maybe my terms'll seem a little high, at fust
mention, but--'
“'Very good,' says the professor, 'very good. I'm sure you'll be
satisfactory. Now please see to the unloading of that car. And be
careful, VERY careful.'
“Nate broke the news to Augustus that afternoon. He had his nose stuck
in a book, as usual, and never heard, so Nate yelled at him like a mate
on a tramp steamer, just to keep in trainin'.
“'Who? Who? Who? What? What?' squeals Augustus, jumpin' out of the
chair as if there was pins in it. 'What is it? Who did it? Oh, my poor
nerves!'
“'Drat your poor nerves!' Nate says. 'I've got a good promisin' job for
you. Listen to this.'
“Then he told about the professor's wantin' Gus to be assistant and help
do what the old man called 'experiments.'
“'Dixland?' says Gus, 'Ansel Hobart Dixland, the great scientist! And
I'm to be HIS assistant? Assistant to the man who discovered DIXIUM and
invented--'
“'Oh, belay there!' snorts Nate, impatient. Tell me this--he's awful
rich, ain't he?'
“'Why, I believe--yes, Harmon said he was. But to think of MY bein'--'
“'Now, nephew,' Nate cut in, 'let me talk to you a minute. Me and your
Aunt Huldy Ann have been mighty kind to you sence you've been here, and
here's your chance to do us a good turn. You stick close to science and
the professor and let me attend to the finances. If this family ain't
well off pretty soon it won't be your Uncle Nate's fault. Only don't you
put your oar in where 'tain't needed.'
“Lord love you, Gus didn't care about finances. He was so full of joy at
bein' made assistant to the great Ansel Whiskers Dixland that he forgot
everything else, nerves and all.
“So in another day the four of 'em was landed on Ozone Island and so was
the freight-car load of crates and boxes. Grub and necessaries was to be
provided by Scudder--for salary as stated and commission understood.
“It took Nate less than a week to find out what old Dixland was up to.
When he learned it, he set down in the sand and fairly snorted disgust.
The old idiot was cal'latin' to FLY. Seems that for years he'd been
experimentin' with what he called 'aeroplanes,' and now he'd reached the
stage where he b'lieved he could flap his wings and soar. 'Thinks I,'
says Nate, 'your life work's cut out for you, Nate Scudder. You'll spend
the rest of your days as gen'ral provider for the Ozone private asylum.'
Well, Scudder wa'n't complainin' none at the outlook. He couldn't make a
good livin' no easier.
“The aeroplane was in sections in them boxes and crates. Nate and
Augustus and the professor got out the sections and fitted 'em together.
The buildin's on Ozone was all joined together--first the house, then
the ell, then the wash-rooms and big sheds, and, finally, the barn.
There was doors connectin', and you could go from house to barn, both
downstairs and up, without steppin' outside once.
“'Twas in the barn that they built what Whiskers called the 'flyin'
stage.' 'Twas a long chute arrangement on trestles, and the idea was
that the aeroplane was to get her start by slidin' down the chute, out
through the big doors and off by the atmosphere route to glory. I say
that was the IDEA. In practice she worked different.
“Twice the professor made proclamations that everything was ready, and
twice they started that flyin' machine goin'. The fust time Dixland
was at the helm, and him and the aeroplane dropped headfust into the
sandbank just outside the barn. The machine was underneath, and the
pieces of it acted as a fender, so all the professor fractured was his
temper. But it took ten days to get the contraption ready for the next
fizzle. Then poor, shaky, scart Augustus was pilot, and he went so deep
into the bank that Nate says he wondered whether 'twas wuth while doin'
anything but orderin' the gravestone. But they dug him out at last,
whole, but frightened blue, and his nerves was worse than ever after
that.
“Then old Dixland announces that he has discovered somethin' wrong in
the principle of the thing, and they had to wait while he ordered some
new fittin's from Boston.
“Meanwhile there was other complications settin' in. Scudder was kept
busy providin' grub and such like and helpin' the niece, Olivia,
with the housework. Likewise he had his hands full keepin' the
folks alongshore from findin' out what was goin' on. All this flyin'
foolishness had to be a dead secret.
“But, busy as he was, he found time to notice the thick acquaintance
that was developin' between Augustus and Olivia. Them two was what the
minister calls 'kindred sperrits.' Seems she was sufferin' from science
same as he was and, more'n that, she was loaded to the gunwale with
'social reform.' To hear the pair of 'em go on about helpin' the poor
and 'settlement work' and such was enough, accordin' to Nate, to make
you leave the table. But there! He couldn't complain. Olivia was her
uncle's only heir, and Nate could see a rainbow of promise ahead for the
Scudder family.
“The niece was a nice, quiet girl. The only thing Nate had against her,
outside of the sociology craziness and her not seemin' to take a shine
to him, was her confounded pets. Nate said he never had no use for
pets--lazy critters, eatin' up the victuals and costin' money--but
Olivia was dead gone on 'em. She adopted an old reprobate of a tom-cat,
which she labeled 'Galileo,' after an Eyetalian who invented spyglasses
or somethin' similar, and a great big ugly dog that answered to the hail
of 'Phillips Brooks'; she named him that because she said the original
Phillips was a distinguished parson and a great philanthropist.
“That dog was a healthy philanthropist. When Nate kicked him the first
time, he chased him the whole length of the barn. After that they had to
keep him chained up. He was just pinin' for a chance to swaller Scudder
whole, and he showed it.
“Well, as time went on, Olivia and Augustus got chummier and chummier.
Nate give 'em all the chance possible to be together, and as for old
Professor Whiskers, all he thought of, anyway, was his blessed flyin'
machine. So things was shapin' themselves well, 'cordin' to Scudder's
notion.
“One afternoon Nate come, unexpected, to the top of a sand hill at
t'other end of the island, and there, below, set Olivia and Augustus.
He had a clove hitch 'round her waist, and they was lookin' into each
other's spectacles as if they was windows in the pearly gates. Thinks
Nate: 'They've signed articles,' and he tiptoed away, feelin' that life
wa'n't altogether an empty dream.
“They was lively hours, them that followed. To begin with, when Nate got
back to the barn he found the professor layin' on the floor, under the
flyin' stage, groanin' soulful but dismal. He'd slipped off one of the
braces of the trestles and sprained both wrists and bruised himself till
he wa'n't much more than one big lump. He hadn't bruised his tongue
none to speak of, though, and his language wa'n't sprained so that you'd
notice it. What broke him up most of all was that he'd got his aeroplane
ready to 'fly' again, and now he was knocked out so's he couldn't be
aboard when she went off the ways.
“'It is the irony of fate,' says he.
“'I got it off the blacksmith over to Wellmouth Centre,' Nate told him;
'but HE might have got it from Fate, or whoever you mean. 'Twas slippery
iron, I know that, and I warned you against steppin' on it yesterday.'
“The professor more'n hinted that Nate was a dunderhead idiot, and then
he commenced to holler for Tolliver; he wanted to see Tolliver right
off. Scudder thought he'd ought to see a doctor, but he wouldn't, so
Nate plastered him up best he could, got him into the big chair in the
front room, and went huntin' Augustus. Him and Olivia was still
camped in the sand bank. Gus's right arm had got tired by this time, I
cal'late, but he had a new hitch with his left. Likewise they was still
starin' into each other's specs.
“'Excuse me for interruptin' the mesmerism,' says Nate, 'but the
professor wants to see you.'
“They jumped and broke away. But it took more'n that to bring 'em down
out of the clouds. They'd been flyin' a good sight higher than the old
aeroplane had yet.
“'Uncle Nathan,' says Augustus, gettin' up and shakin' hands, 'I have
the most wonderful news for you. It's hardly believable. You'll never
guess it.'
“'Give me three guesses and I'll win on the fust,' says Nate. 'You two
are engaged.'
“They looked at him as if he'd done somethin' wonderful. 'But, Uncle,'
says Gus, shakin' hands again, 'just think! she's actually consented to
marry me.'
“'Well, that's gen'rally understood to be a part of engagin', ain't
it?' says Nate. 'I'm glad to hear it. Miss Dixland, I congratulate you.
You've got a fine, promisin' young man.'
“That, to Nate's notion, was about the biggest lie he ever told, but
Olivia swallered it for gospel. She seemed to thaw toward Scudder a
little mite, but 'twa'n't at a permanent melt, by no means.
“'Thank you, Mr. Scudder,' says she, still pretty frosty. 'I am full
aware of Mr. Tolliver's merits. I'm glad to learn that YOU recognize
them. He has told some things concernin' his stay at your home which--'
“'Yes, yes,' says Nate, kind of hurried. 'Well, I'm sorry to dump bad
news into a puddle of happiness like this, but your Uncle Ansel, Miss
Dixland, has been tryin' to fly without his machine, and he's sorry for
it.'
“Then he told what had happened to the professor, and Olivia started on
the run for the house. Augustus was goin', too, but Nate held him back.
“'Wait a minute, Gus,' says he. 'Walk along with me; I want to talk with
you. Now, as an older man, your nighest relation, and one that's come to
love you like a son--yes, sir, like a son--I think it's my duty just now
to say a word of advice. You're goin' to marry a nice girl that's comin'
in for a lot of money one of these days. The professor, he's kind of
old, his roof leaks consider'ble, and this trouble is likely to hurry
the end along.
“'Now, then,' Nate goes on, 'Augustus, my boy, what are you and that
simple, childlike girl goin' to do with all that money? How are you
goin' to take care of it? You and 'Livia--you mustn't mind my callin'
her that 'cause she's goin' to be one of the family so soon--you'll
want to be fussin' with science and such, and you won't have no time
to attend to the finances. You'll need a good, safe person to be your
financial manager. Well, you know me and you know your Aunt Huldy Ann.
WE know all about financin'; WE'VE had experience. You just let us
handle the bonds and coupons and them trifles. We'll invest 'em for you.
We'll be yours and 'Livia's financial managers. As for our wages, maybe
they'll seem a little high, but that's easy arranged. And--'
“Gus interrupted then. 'Oh, that's all settled,' he says. 'Olivia and I
have planned all that. When we're married we shall devote our lives to
social work--to settlement work. All the money we ever get we shall use
to help the poor. WE don't want any of it. We shall live AMONG the poor,
live just as frugally as they do. Our money we shall give--every cent of
it--to charity and--'
“'Lord sakes!' yells Nate, 'DON'T talk that way! Don't! Be you crazy,
too? Why--'
“But Gus went on, talkin' a steady streak about livin' in a little
tenement in what he called the 'slums' and chuckin' the money to this
tramp and that, till Nate's head was whirlin'. 'Twa'n't no joke. He
meant it and so did she, and they was just the pair of loons to do it,
too.
“Afore Nate had a chance to think up anything sensible to say, Olivia
comes hollerin' for Gus to hurry. Off he went, and Nate followed
along, holdin' his head and staggerin' like a voter comin' home from a
political candidate's picnic. All he could think of was: 'THIS the end
of all my plannin'! What--WHAT'LL Huldy Ann say to THIS?'
“Nate found the professor bolstered up in his chair, with the other
two standin' alongside. He was layin' down the law about that blessed
aeroplane.
“'No! no! NO! I tell you!' he roars, 'I'll see no doctor. My invention
is ready at last, and, if I'm goin' to die, I'll die successful.
Tolliver, you've been a faithful worker with me, and yours shall be the
privilege of makin' the first flight. Wheel me to the window, Olivia,
and let me see my triumph.'
“But Olivia didn't move. Instead, she looked at Augustus and he at her.
'Wheel me to the window!' yells Dixland. 'Tolliver, what are you waitin'
for? The doors are open, the aeroplane is ready. Go this instant and
fly.'
“Augustus was a bird all right, 'cordin' to Nate's opinion, but he
didn't seem anxious to spread his wings. He was white, and them nerves
of his was all in a twitter. If ever there was a scart critter, 'twas
him then.
“'Go out and fly,' says Nate to him, pretty average ugly. 'Don't you
hear the boss's order? Here, professor, I'll push you to the window.'
“'Thank you, Scudder,' says Dixland. And then turnin' to Gus: 'Well,
sir, may I ask why you wait?'
“'Twas Olivia that answered. 'Uncle Ansel,' says she, 'I must tell you
somethin'. I should have preferred tellin' you privately,' she puts in,
glarin' at Nate, 'but it seems I can't. Mr. Tolliver and I are engaged
to be married.'
“Old Whiskers didn't seem to care a continental. All he had in his
addled head was that flyin' contraption.
“'All right, all right,' he snaps, fretty, 'I'm satisfied. He appears to
be a decent young man enough. But now I want him to start my aeroplane.'
“'No, Uncle Ansel,' goes on Olivia, 'I cannot permit him to risk his
life in that way. His nerves are not strong and neither is his heart.
Besides, the aeroplane has failed twice. Luckily no one was killed in
the other trials, but the chances are that the third time may prove
fatal.'
“'Fatal, you imbecile!' shrieks the professor. 'It's perfected, I tell
you! I--'
“'It makes no difference. No, uncle, Augustus and I have made up our
minds. His life and health are too precious; he must be spared for the
grand work that we are to do together. No, Uncle Ansel, he shall NOT
fly.'
“Did you ever see a cat in a fit? That was the professor just then, so
Nate said. He tried to wave his sprained wrists and couldn't; tried to
stamp his foot and found it too lame. But his eyeglasses flashed sparks
and his tongue spit fire.
“'Are you goin' to start that machine?' he screams at the blue-white,
shaky Augustus.
“'No, Professor Dixland,' stammers Gus. 'No, sir, I'm sorry, but--'
“'Why don't you ask Mr. Scudder to make the experiment, uncle?' suggests
that confounded niece, smilin' the spitefullest smile.
“'Scudder,' says the professor, 'I'll give you five thousand dollars
cash to start in that aeroplane this moment.'
“For a jiffy Nate was staggered. Five thousand dollars CASH--whew! But
then he thought of how deep Gus had been shoved into that sandbank.
And there was a new and more powerful motor aboard the thing now. Five
thousand dollars ain't much good to a telescoped corpse. He fetched a
long breath.
“'Well, now, Mr. Dixland,' he says, 'I'd like to, fust rate, but you see
I don't know nothin' about mechanics.'
“'Professor--' begins Augustus. 'Twas the final straw. Old Whiskers
jumped out of the chair, lameness and all.
“'Out of this house, you ingrate!' he bellers. 'Out this instant! I
discharge you. Go! go!'
“He was actually frothin' at the mouth. I cal'late Olivia thought he was
goin' to die, for she run to him.
“'You'd better go, I think,' says she to her shakin' beau. 'Go, dear,
now. I must stay with him for the present, but we will see each other
soon. Go now, and trust me.'
“'I disown you, you ungrateful girl,' foams her uncle. 'Scudder, I order
you to put that--that creature off this island.'
“'Yes, sir,' says Nate, polite; 'in about two shakes of a heifer's
tail.'
“He started for Augustus, and Gus started for the door. I guess Olivia
might have interfered, but just then the professor keels over in a kind
of faint and she had to tend to him. Gus darts out of the door with Nate
after him. Scudder reached the beach just as his nephew was shovin' off
in the boat, bound for the mainland.
“'Consarn your empty head!' Nate yelled after him. 'See what you get by
not mindin' me, don't you? I'm runnin' things on this island after this.
I'm boss here; understand? When you're ready to sign a paper deedin'
over ha'f that money your wife's goin' to get to me and Huldy Ann, maybe
I'll let you come back. And perhaps then I'll square things for you with
Dixland. But if you dare to set foot on these premises until then I'll
murder you; I'll drown you; I'll cut you up for bait; I'll feed you to
the dog.'
“He sculled off, his oars rattlin' 'Hark from the tomb' in the rowlocks.
He b'lieved Nate meant it all. Oh, Scudder had HIM trained all right.”