MATLACK'S THREE TROUBLES
"Have you asked those two young men to breakfast again?" inquired Mr.
Archibald, after examining, with a moderate interest, the specimen of
birch-bark which Margery had shown him.
"Oh no, indeed," said she, "they have had their breakfast. They have been
telling me about it. The bishop got up very early in the morning and
cooked it for them. He's a splendid cook, and he found things in their
hampers that they didn't know they had. They said his coffee was
delicious, and they have left him there in their camp now, washing the
dishes and putting everything in order. And do you think, Uncle Archibald,
that it is going to rain?"
"I do," said he, "for it is sprinkling already."
This proved to be the first bad day since the Archibald party had gone
into camp, and the rain soon began to come down in a steady, practised
way, as if the clouds above were used to that sort of thing and could
easily keep it up all day.
As there was no place under roof to which company could be conveniently
invited, Margery retired to her room and set herself diligently to work on
her birch-bark quilt.
Mrs. Archibald established herself in the division of the cabin which was
intended to be used as a sitting and dining room in bad weather, and
applied herself to some sewing and darning, which had been reserved for
just such a day as this. Mr. Archibald, in a water-proof suit, tried
fishing for half an hour or so, but finding it both unpleasant and
unprofitable, he joined his wife, made himself as comfortable as possible
on two chairs, and began to read aloud one of the novels they had brought
with them.
Mr. Clyde and Mr. Raybold had considerately gone to their own camp when it
began to rain, hoping, however, that the shower would be over in a short
time. But the rain was not a shower, and they spent the morning on their
backs in their tent, talking and smoking. Of course they could not expect
the bishop to depart in the rain, so they had told him to make himself as
comfortable as he could in the little kitchen tent, and offered him a pipe
and a book. The first he declined, as he never smoked, but the latter he
accepted with delight.
After the mid-day dinner Phil Matlack, in a pair of high hunting-boots and
an oil-skin coat, came to Mr. Archibald and said that as there was nothing
he could do that afternoon, he would walk over to Sadler's and attend to
some business he had there.
"About the bishop?" asked Mr. Archibald.
"Partly," said Matlack. "I understand the fellow is still over there with
those two young men. I don't suppose they'll send him off in the rain, and
as he isn't in my camp, I can't interfere. But it may rain for two or
three days."
"All right," said Mr. Archibald, "and if we want anything we'll ask
Martin."
"Just so," said Matlack. "If there's anything to do that you don't want to
do yourself, you can get him to do it; but if you want to know anything
you don't know yourself, you'd better wait until I come back."
When Matlack presented himself before Peter Sadler he found that ponderous
individual seated in his rolling-chair near the open door, enjoying the
smell of the rain.
"Hello, Phil!" he cried. "What's wrong at the camp?"
The guide left his wet coat and cap on the little piazza outside, and
after carefully wiping his feet, seated himself on a chair near the door.
"There's three things wrong," said he. "In the first place, there's a
tramp out there, and it looks to me as if he was a-goin' to stick, if he
can get allowed to do it."
"Is he too big for you to bounce?" roared Peter. "That's a pretty story to
come tell me!"
"No, he ain't," said the other; "but I haven't got the bouncin' of him.
He's not in my camp. The young men have took him in; but I expect he'll
come over with them as soon as it's done rainin', for when that happens
they're bound to come themselves."
"Look here, Phil," said Peter, "is he dressed in black?"
"Yes, he is," said the guide.
Mr. Sadler slapped his hand on the arm of his chair. "Phil Matlack," he
shouted, "that's my favorite tramp. I never had a man here who paid his
bill in work as he did. It was cash down, and good money. Not a minute of
wood-splitting more or less than the market-price for meals and bed. I'd
like to have a tramp like that come along about twice a week. But I tell
you, Phil, he ain't no tramp. Couldn't you see that? None of them loafers
ever worked as he did."
"He may not be a tramp," said Matlack, "but he's trampin'. What are you
goin' to do about him? Let him stay there?"
"What's he doin' now?" asked Sadler.
"He's cookin' for those two young men."
"Well, they need some one to do it for them, and they didn't want to go to
the expense of a guide. Let the parson alone for a day or two, and if he
does anything out of the way just you take him by one ear and Martin take
him by the other and bring him to me. I'll attend to him. What's the next
trouble?"
"That's out of my camp, too," said Matlack, "but I'm bound to report it.
The bicycle fellow that you hired a gun to don't know the fust thing about
usin' it, and the next thing you'll hear will be that he's shot his
pardner, who's worth six of him."
Mr. Sadler sat up very straight in his chair and stared at the guide.
"Phil Matlack," he shouted, "what do you take me for? I hired that gun to
that young man. Don't you suppose I know what I'm about?"
"That's all right," said Matlack, "but the trouble is he don't know what
he's about."
"Get away man," said Peter, with a contemptuous sniff, "he'll never hurt
anybody. What do you take me for? When he came to me and wanted a gun, I
handed him two or three, so that he might choose one that suited him, and
by the way he handled them I could see that most likely he'd never handled
one before, and so I set him up all right. He's got a good gun, and all
the cartridges he'll be likely to want; and the cartridges are all like
this. They're a new kind I heard of last winter, and I got a case from
Boston last week. I don't see how I ever managed to run my camps without
them. Do you see that shot?" said he, opening one end of a cartridge.
"Well, take one in your hand and pinch it."
Phil did so, and it crumbled to dust in his hand.
"When that load's fired," said Peter, "all the shot will crumble into
dust. It wouldn't do to give raw hands blank-cartridges, because they'd
find that out; but with this kind they might sit all day and fire at a
baby asleep in its cradle and never disturb it, provided the baby was
deaf. And he can't use his pardner's cartridges, for I gave that fellow a
twelve-bore gun and his is a ten-bore."
Phil grinned. "Well, then," said he, "I suppose I might as well make my
mind easy, but if that bicycle man hunts much he'll get the conviction
borne in on him that he's a dreadful bad shot."
"Then he'll give up shooting, which is what is wanted," said Sadler.
"What's your third bother?"
"That young woman has made up her mind to go out in the boat by herself
the very fust time she feels like it," said Matlack; "she didn't say so
with her mouth, but she said it with the back of her head and her
shoulders, and I want to know if that rule of yours is going to hold good
this summer. Women is gettin' to do so many things they didn't use to that
I didn't know but what you'd consider they'd got far enough to take
themselves out on the lake, and if you do think so, I don't want to get
myself in hot water with those people and then find you don't back me
up."
"If you don't want to get yourself into hot water with me, Phil Matlack,
you'd better get it into your head just as soon as you can that when I
make a rule it's a rule, and I don't want people comin' to me and talkin'
about changes. Women in my camp don't go out in boats by themselves, and
it's easy enough to have that rule kept if you've got backbone enough to
do it. Keep the boat locked to the shore when it ain't in use, and put the
key in your pocket, and if anybody gets it that 'ain't any right to it,
that's your lookout. Now that's the end of your troubles, I hope. How's
things goin' on generally in the camp?"
"Oh, well enough," said Matlack. "I thought at fust the old lady'd give
out in a day or two, but I've taught her parlor-fishin', which she's took
to quite lively, and she's got used to the woods. The boss, he sticks to
fishin', as if it was office-work, and as for the rest of them, I guess
they're all gettin' more and more willin' to stay."
"Why?" asked Peter.
"Well, one of them is a gal and the others isn't," replied Matlack,
"that's about the p'int of it."
During Matlack's walk back the skies cleared, and when he reached the camp
he found Mrs. Archibald seated in her chair near the edge of the lake, a
dry board under her feet, and the bishop standing by her, putting bait on
her hook, and taking the fish off of it when any happened to be there. Out
in the boat sat Mr. Archibald, trusting that some fish might approach the
surface in search of insects disabled by the rain. Farther on, at a place
by the water's edge that was clear of bushes and undergrowth, Martin was
giving Miss Dearborn a lesson in fly-fishing.
"He's a mighty good fisherman," thought Matlack, looking at the young
fellow as he brought his rod back from the water with a long graceful
sweep, and then, with another sweep and an easy inclination of his body
forward, sending the fly far out on the smooth surface of the lake,
"although there ain't no need to tell him so; and I don't wonder she'd
rather stand and watch him than try to do it herself."
Walking up and down near the edge of the wood were Messrs. Clyde and
Raybold.
Phil smiled. "They don't seem to be happy," he said to himself. "I guess
they're hankerin' to take a share in her edication; but if you don't know
nothin' yourself, you can't edicate other people."
Matlack directed his steps towards Mrs. Archibald; but before he reached
her he was met by the bishop, who hurried towards him.
"I shall be obliged to surrender my post to you," he said, "which will be
greatly to the lady's satisfaction, I imagine, for I must appear a poor
attendant after you."
[Illustration: "A LESSON IN FLY-FISHING"]
"Goin' to leave us?" said Matlack. "You look quite spruced up."
The bishop smiled. "You allude, I suppose," said he, "to the fact that my
hat and clothes are brushed, and that I am freshly shaved and have on a
clean collar. I like to be as neat as I can. This is a gutta-percha
collar, and I can wash it whenever I please with a bit of damp rag, and it
is my custom to shave every day, if I possibly can. But as to leaving you,
I shall not do so this evening. I have promised those young gentlemen who
so kindly invited me to their camp that I would prepare their supper for
them, and I must now go to make the fire and get things in readiness."
"Have they engaged you as cook and general help?" asked Matlack.
"Oh no," said the bishop, with a smile, "they are kind and I am grateful,
that is all."