TOM INTERVIEWS THE SQUATTER.
“I DON’T believe I care to be one of them now,” repeated Prime, who,
being a pretty good judge of character, knew that he ran no risk in
speaking freely in the presence of the three boys before him. “I wish I
could see their old organization knocked higher than the moon; or else I
wish that a few more new fellows of the right sort would come in, so
that we could have a club of our own.”
“I was about to suggest that very thing,” said Tom. “It can’t be
possible that Wayring and his cronies have got every boy in town under
their thumbs.”
“Not by a long shot!” exclaimed Prime. “There are ten or a dozen besides
myself who do not bow to them.”
“And my cousins and I add three to the number,” replied Tom. “That’s
enough for a hunting club. But we will talk about that at some future
time. Do you belong to the other clubs?”
Prime replied that he did, adding that any body could get into them, for
there was no limit to the membership.
“The canoe and yacht clubs are getting large enough to be unwieldy,”
said he. “I know of a good many boys who are not satisfied with the way
things are managed, and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if there should
be a split some day. There are a few of us who are talking it up as fast
as we can. We are getting tired of seeing the same old tickets elected
every year, and think it high time we had a change.”
“Is Wayring much of a canoeist?” asked Tom.
“Indeed, he is. He can walk away from any one around here, I am sorry to
say, and in fact, there’s hardly any thing that boy can’t do. I would
give almost any thing to see him beaten, and I—say!” exclaimed Prime, a
bright idea striking him. “Are you fellows canoeists?”
“My cousins are; but I can’t say as much for myself,” answered Tom. “I
have always been called a very fair sculler, and after I learn how to
balance a canoe, I know I have muscle enough to make her get through the
water. Hastings led me to believe that it was a tight squeak between
Wayring, Sheldon and himself.”
“Aw!” said Prime, in a tone of disgust. “You let Hastings alone for
shoving in a good word for himself as often as the opportunity offers.
He never won the first prize in his life. Joe Wayring walks away with it
every time. Suppose you fellows come in and see if you can’t make Joe
lower his broad pennant for a while. If you find that you can’t beat
him—and, although I am no friend of his, I tell you plainly that it will
be the hardest piece of work you ever undertook—you might get in his way
and let him foul you, you know. I tried my level best to do it last
year, but he was too smart for me.”
By this time it was plain to all the boys that they understood one
another perfectly. The truth of the matter was, that Joe Wayring and
some of his particular friends had won too many honors, and made
themselves altogether too popular in the community. These boys were
angry about it, because they wanted to be first in every thing
themselves. Tom Bigden and his cousins had fully intended to take Mount
Airy by storm, and to establish themselves at once as leaders among
their new acquaintances; and their failure to accomplish their object
bewildered as well as enraged them. If they had known how to go about
it, they would have disgraced Joe Wayring before he saw the sun rise
again. So would George Prime. Of course they did not say it in so many
words, but that was what each boy told himself.
Before Tom and his cousins left the store they entered into an alliance
with Prime, both offensive and defensive, and talked over various plans
for annoying the boys who had unwittingly incurred their displeasure. If
they could not injure Joe and his friends in any other way, they could
put them to some trouble and expense, and this they resolved to do the
very first good chance they got. They did not decide upon any particular
course of action, but Prime said that if Tom and his cousins would come
to the store the next day, he would introduce them to a lot of good
fellows who did not like Joe and his “clique” any too well, and who
would be glad to be revenged upon them for some real or imaginary
grievance.
“I see very clearly that there is a good deal of feeling against Wayring
and his followers, and if we handle it rightly we can make it work to
our advantage,” remarked Tom, as he and his cousins walked slowly
homeward. “It is a wonder to me that something hasn’t been done to him
before this time. What they lack is a leader—some one to propose a plan
and go ahead with it.”
“Well, they have found him at last—three of him,” said Loren. “I always
was opposed to living in a little country town, because you invariably
find fellows there who think they know more than any body else—”
“And plenty of others who are willing to uphold them in that belief,”
chimed in Ralph. “I say, don’t let’s have any thing to do with the
Toxophilites. Let’s get up a club of our own and manage it as we see
proper.”
“I am in favor of that,” replied Tom. “We’ll have no fines and drills,
for one thing, and neither will we admit any girls who stick up their
noses at a good cigar. But there is one thing we must not forget to do
when we meet those fellows at the store to-morrow. If we decide upon any
thing, we must be careful how we carry it out. If we are foolish enough
to let Joe and the rest know that we are down on them, and that we
intend to do them all the injury we can, they will make things very
unpleasant for us. We don’t want them to serve us as they have served
Prime, and read us entirely out of their good books—”
“And that is just what they will do if they see us in Prime’s company,”
interrupted Loren. “Sheldon said so.”
“There is no need that they should ever see us in his company,” replied
Tom. “Our best plan would be to hold all our meetings in secret—”
“And keep our organization, if we have any, a secret,” chimed in Ralph.
“That’s the idea,” said Tom. “Then we can do as much damage as we please
in the way of setting boats adrift, and so on, and Joe and his followers
will be at loss to know where the annoyance comes from. We mustn’t
forget to speak to the fellows about that to-morrow.”
Unfortunately an incident happened that very afternoon which made it
comparatively easy for the three schemers to carry out the plans they
proposed. It was, in fact, a fight between a squatter and the Mount Airy
authorities, to whom he had made himself obnoxious. Tom and his cousins
were witnesses of the preliminary skirmish, that is, the serving of the
notice of ejectment, and when they heard a full report of the matter
from one of the boys to whom Prime introduced them, their delight was
almost unbounded. Tom danced a horn-pipe in the excess of his joy, and
repeatedly declared that nothing could have happened that was so well
calculated to further their designs. It came about in this way:
Mr. Wayring’s summer cottages were all located on the opposite shore of
the lake. The road that led to them ran down the hill, around the foot
of the lake, and through a little settlement which bore the euphonious
name of “Stumptown.” Why this name had been given to it no one seemed to
know. It certainly was not appropriate, for there was not a stump to be
seen in any of its well-cultivated gardens, from which the Mount Airy
and Lambert Houses drew their supplies of vegetables and small fruits.
The male members of this little community were licensed guides and
boatmen—the only ones, in fact, who had the right to serve the guests of
the hotels in that capacity. They lived on Mr. Wayring’s land, and in
neat little cottages which the liberal owner had erected for their
especial benefit. When the season was over and the guests returned to
their homes in the city, these men hunted and trapped in the mountains,
and entertained the village boys, with whom they were great favorites,
and who often invaded their humble abodes during the long winter
evenings, with thrilling and amusing tales of life in the wilderness.
They taught the boys woodcraft, and made themselves so useful in other
ways, that the young Nimrods of the village had never been able to
decide how they could manage to get on without them.
Into this settlement there came one day an unkempt man, with a red nose
and a very forbidding face, who brought with him a large punt, into
which he had crowded all his worldly treasures, including his wife and
two stalwart sons, not one of whom was one whit more prepossessing than
the husband and father. Without saying a word to any body the red-nosed
man, who answered to the name of Matt Coyle, took possession of a piece
of ground that had been cleared but not fenced in, and began the
erection of a shanty with boards which formed a part of the punt’s
cargo. While he and his sons were at work Mr. Hastings, who was one of
the village trustees, rode by. He did not at all like the appearance of
the new-comers, but he had nothing to say to them. There was room for
more guides and boatmen, and Matt and his family might turn out better
than they looked. If they proved to be honest, industrious people who
were willing to work for a living, Mr. Hastings was perfectly willing
that they should stay, and he knew that Mr. Wayring would provide a
house and garden for them. If they proved to be objectionable in any
way, it would be an easy matter to get rid of them.
Shortly after Mr. Hastings passed out of sight Matt Coyle wanted a
drink; and he found it—not in the lake, or in the ice-cold spring from
which the guides obtained their supply of water, but in a jug which he
fished out from a lot of miscellaneous rubbish in the punt. After he had
quenched his thirst he passed the jug over to his wife and boys, the
whole proceeding being witnessed by Nat Clark, the oldest man and best
guide and boatman in the settlement, who was getting his skiff ready to
take out a fishing party from one of the hotels.
“Look a yer, friend,” said Nat. “What you got into that there jug o’
your’n?”
“The best kind o’ whisky,” answered Matt Coyle, cheerfully. “An’ I’ve
got as much as half a bar’l more in the punt. Want a drop?”
“Not much,” replied Nat, emphatically. “An’ if you’re goin’ to stay
about yer, you’d best knock in the head of that there bar’l an’ smash
that there jug without wastin’ no time.”
“What fur?” demanded the red-nosed man, who was very much surprised.
“’Cause why, it’s agin the law fur stuff of that kind to be brung into
these yer grounds.”
“Who made that there law?”
“The trustees. You’d best do as I tell you, ’cause if they find out that
you’ve got it, they’ll spill the last drop of it fur you.”
“They will, eh?” exclaimed Matt. “I’d like to see ’em try it on. They’d
better not try to boss me, ’cause me an’ my boys have got rifles into
the punt, an’ we know how to use ’em too. Them there trustees ain’t got
no more right to say what I shall drink than they have to say what I
shall eat. Besides, how are they goin’ to find out that I have got it?”
“_I_ shan’t tell ’em, ’cause I’ve got enough to do without botherin’ my
head with other folks’s business,” answered the guide, who knew by the
tone in which they were uttered that there was a threat hidden under
Matt Coyle’s last words. “But you can’t keep it hid from ’em, an’
they’re bound to find it out.”
And sure enough they did.
Having built his shanty and moved his household goods into it, Matt
Coyle and his boys presented themselves before the manager of the
Lambert House and demanded employment as guides and boatmen. That
functionary, who did not know that there were any such disreputable
looking people in town, gazed at them in surprise, and told them rather
bluntly that he had nothing for them to do. The manager of the Mount
Airy House told them the same thing. The hotel guides were neat in
person and respectful in demeanor, and Matt and his boys were just the
reverse. The managers would not insult their guests by giving them boats
manned by such persons as they were. Matt and his boys were angry, of
course, and after wasting the best portion of the day grumbling over
their hard luck, they put the jug into the punt and started out on a
fishing excursion. They came back with a good string, but the hotels and
boarding-houses refused to purchase, because their guests, with the
assistance of the guides, kept the tables well supplied.
Things went on in this way for a month, during which Matt and his boys
had twice been thrust into the calaboose for attempting to “run the
town” to suit themselves, and at the end of that time the trustees
decided that he and his family were of no use in Mount Airy, and that
they had better go somewhere else. On the day the lawn tennis party was
held, a notice to Matt Coyle to pull down his shanty and vacate the
ground of which he had taken unauthorized possession, was given to a
constable, and Tom Bigden and his cousins happened along just as the
officer had begun to read it to him. The boys knew that there was
something going on in the settlement before they came within sight of
it, for when the officer took the notice from his pocket the squatter
declared that he would not have any papers served on him: and then
followed a loud and angry altercation in which Matt Coyle and his
family, the constable and half a dozen guides took part. Tom and his
companions quickened their pace to a run, and arrived upon the scene
just in time to hear the squatter say, in savage tones:
“I know what’s into that there paper, an’ I tell you agin that I won’t
listen to it. Some of them rich fellers up there on the hill want me to
go away from here, but I tell you I won’t do it. I’ve got just as much
right—”
“Keep still, can’t you?” shouted the officer. He had to shout in order
to make himself heard, for Matt Coyle’s voice was almost as loud as a
fog whistle. “I am going to read this notice whether you listen or not.”
“No, I won’t listen,” roared the squatter, swinging his arms around his
head. “I’ve got just as much right on this here ’arth as them rich folks
up on the hill have. Where shall I go if I leave here?”
“I am sure I don’t care where you go,” replied the officer. “But you are
not wanted in Mount Airy and you can’t stay.”
“But I tell you I will stay, too,” shouted Matt, who was so nearly
beside himself that Tom and his companions looked for nothing but to see
him assault the officer. Probably he would have laid violent hands upon
him had it not been for the presence of the stalwart guides, who stood
close behind him. “I came here ’cause I heared that there was plenty
that an honest, hard-workin’ man could do.”
“And so there is,” answered the constable, “but you are neither honest
nor hard-working.”
“They wouldn’t have me an’ my boys fur guides, ’cause we didn’t have no
fine clothes to wear,” continued Matt. “An’ nuther would they buy the
fish we ketched, ’cause—look a yer. You needn’t try to read that there
paper to me, ’cause I won’t listen to it, I tell you.”
But the constable, who had grown tired of talking, paid no attention to
him. He read the notice, raising his voice as often as the squatter
raised his; then Matt’s boys, and finally his wife came to his
assistance, and this started the guides, who flourished their fists in
the air and shouted until they were red in the face. Among them all they
raised a fearful hubbub, and, of course, the officer’s voice was
entirely inaudible; but he read calmly on, and when he had finished the
document he walked away, followed by the guides, and leaving the
squatter and his family in a towering rage. Ralph and Loren were afraid
of them now that the constable and his broad-shouldered backers were
gone, but Tom looked serenely on, and could hardly resist the impulse to
laugh outright when he saw Matt and his family stamping about, shaking
their clenched hands in the air, and acting altogether as though they
had taken leave of their senses.
“Let’s get away from here,” whispered Loren, when Matt made a sudden and
furious rush toward the shanty, and began trying to kick the side of it
in with his heavy boots, just to show how mad he was, and to give his
wife and boys some idea of the damage he would do if he only possessed
the power.
“What’s your hurry?” asked Tom, indifferently. “Can’t you see how we can
turn this to our advantage?”
“I can see that those people are in a terrible rage,” replied Loren, who
was really alarmed, “and I am afraid they will turn on us next.”
“There’s no danger of that,” answered Tom, confidently. “When men rant
and rave in that way they are not to be feared for any thing they may do
openly. They are the ones who work in secret.”
At this moment Matt Coyle became aware that he and his family were not
alone—that there were three interested spectators close at hand; and as
if to show Tom that he was mistaken in the opinions to which he had just
given expression, Matt rushed toward him as if he meant to annihilate
him, followed by all the members of his family, who shook their fists
and shouted as if they were very angry indeed. Ralph and Loren shrank
back, but Tom, who was nobody’s coward, stood his ground, looked
squarely into Matt’s eyes, and coolly put his hands into his pockets.
“What you standin’ here gapin’ at?” demanded the squatter, fiercely. He
had drawn back his fist with the full intention of striking Tom; but
when he saw that the boy did not appear to be at all afraid of him, he
thought better of it.
“Why do you come at us in that savage way?” demanded Tom. “We don’t
scare worth a cent. If you want to get even with any one for the
shameful manner in which you have been treated, there’s the man you must
go for,” he added, pointing toward the grove which concealed Mr.
Wayring’s house from view. “He is entirely to blame for all the trouble
you have had. Your cabin is on his land, and the trustees never would
have thought of ordering you off if he had not complained of you.”
Matt and his family were greatly astonished. They thought that every one
in town looked down on them because they were poor, but here was
somebody who sympathized with them. Tom, quick to see that he had made
an impression upon the angry squatter, went on to say—
“If the people of this village should treat me as they have treated you,
it would make a regular Ishmaelite of me.”
“What sort of a feller is that?” asked Matt.
“Why, Ishmael was a hunter who lived a good many years ago,” answered
Tom. “His hand was against every man, and every man’s hand was against
him. He didn’t have a friend in the world.”
“That’s me,” exclaimed Matt, who seemed pleased to know that there was,
or had been, at least one other man in existence who knew what trouble
was. “I ain’t got no friends nuther. These rich folks have tried to
starve me since I came here, but they didn’t do it—not by a long shot.”
“Now, if I were situated as you are,” continued Tom, “I would draw a
bee-line for Sherwin’s pond—”
“Where’s that?” inquired Matt.
“It lies off that way, fifteen miles from the head of this lake,”
replied Tom, indicating the direction with his finger, and wondering at
the same time how Matt could have expected to render acceptable service
as guide to the guests of the hotels, when he was not acquainted with
the surrounding country. “There are about twelve miles of rapids in the
stream that connects the lake with Sherwin’s pond, but your punt will go
through easy enough if you can keep her clear of the rocks. As I was
saying, I would go down there, put up my cabin and live in peace. I’d
make more money, too, than I could by acting as guide and boatman.”
“How would you do it?” asked the squatter, whose anger was all gone now.
“Simply by keeping my eyes open. You see those sail-boats anchored out
there? Well, if one of them should happen to get adrift some stormy
night, and come safely through the rapids into the pond and I should
catch it, I wouldn’t give it up until I got a big reward for saving it,
would I? Then again, the pointers, setters and hounds that hunt in these
fields and woods very often get lost, and their owners are willing to
give almost any price to get them back. I tell you,” exclaimed Tom, who
knew by the gleam of intelligence that appeared on the swarthy faces
before him that Matt and his family understood him perfectly, “I could
make plenty of money by taking up my abode down there on the shore of
that pond. If the things I have been talking about didn’t happen of
themselves, I’d _make_ them happen—do you see? Well, good-by, and
remember that we three boys had no hand in driving you out of Mount
Airy.”
So saying Tom walked off followed by his companions, while Matt and his
family faced about and went toward their shanty.