"I TOLD YOU SO"
Janice thought at once of her father when this serious trouble for Uncle
Jason and the family arose. She said nothing about doing so, but before
going to bed that night she wrote Mr. Broxton Day about his brother's
trouble.
Janice's father was considerably younger than his half-brother, had seen
a deal more of the world than Jason Day, and had accumulated a much
larger fortune than the plodding Polktown farmer and carpenter ever
hoped or expected to possess.
Uncle Jason was inclined to criticize Mr. Broxton Day for "putting all
his eggs in one basket," as he had done in investing in mining property
in Chihuahua, Mexico. But now it seemed as though Uncle Jason, shrewd as
he thought himself, had made a similar mistake. He had backed Tom
Hotchkiss beyond the value of all his property, both real and personal.
The investment of Janice's father in the Mexican mine had paid him well
until insurrection broke out in the district. The superintendent then in
charge of the mine had run away while the workmen had joined the
insurrectos.
It was necessary for somebody to go down into the troubled country and
"do something," and the duty devolved upon Mr. Broxton Day of all the
men financially interested in the mining project. He had hastened to the
mine while Janice came to Polktown to live during his absence. Of
course, neither supposed this parting was for long. Now more than three
years had passed, during which time there had been more than one
occasion when Mr. Day was in danger of losing his life.
He had managed to hold the property for himself and his business
associates, however, and had made friends among most of the warring
factions fretting Chihuahua. Of late he had been able to hire workmen
and get out ore. The profits began to roll in again. Mr. Broxton Day's
share of these profits for a month was more than Uncle Jason saw in cash
for several years.
* * * * *
"We must help him, Daddy," wrote Janice. "He has been the dearest
man--so kind to me, as they all have been; but Uncle Jason particularly.
He is not naturally demonstrative. His actions speak louder than words.
He backed me up, you know, when I was arrested for speeding my car that
time. And when Nelson was in trouble over those stolen gold coins Uncle
Jason went on his bail bond and hired the lawyer to defend him.
"We must do all we can for him. The next letter I write you, dear Daddy,
will contain the full particulars of his difficulties--when the notes
come due and their amounts. Meanwhile you can be thinking it over and
planning in that perfectly wonderful brain of yours, how best to help
Uncle Jason ward off disaster."
* * * * *
This kind attitude toward Uncle Jason in his trouble was not assumed by
many, as Janice had foretold. A man like Jason Day in a community like
Polktown was bound to win disapproval from many of his neighbors.
In the first place "those Days" had been looked upon as shiftless and of
little account. Janice's activities had done much to change that
opinion; but there were yet families in Polktown that did not number
Aunt Almira on their calling lists. Moreover, until the recent town
meeting when Uncle Jason, under Janice's spur, had been so active in the
no license campaign, he had been on the "wrong side" in politics. Uncle
Jason was not of the political party that has made Vermont as
"rock-bound" as her own Green Mountains.
So, there were many who, when they heard of Mr. Day's difficulties, said
it served the "tight-fisted fellow" just right. And many who might
better have remembered Uncle Jason's unfailing if somewhat grim
neighborly kindness, whispered and smirked as they discussed the story
in public. At the best, most of his friends proved to be of the
I-told-you-so variety. When it became publicly known that Tom Hotchkiss
had absconded with the funds and the door of his "emporium" was shut,
there was scarcely a person in Polktown who, it seemed, could not have
told Uncle Jason Tom was dishonest.
It was on Saturday evening, following a long day of sore worry for Uncle
Jason, ending in the certain knowledge that scarcely a dollar's worth of
property had been left behind by Hotchkiss to meet his liabilities, that
Nelson Haley came over to supper, as he often did on this evening in the
week. They were still lingering around the supper table when Walky
Dexter came stumping up the porch steps.
"Jefers-pelters! still eatin'?" he cackled. "All the fambly here?
Where's _your_ gal, Marty?"
"Haven't got none," declared the boy with a scowl as positive as his
double negative.
"What?" exploded Walky in apparent surprise. "Then I be needin'
spectacles, jest as my ol' woman says. I thought I seen you hangin'
around Hope Drugg's store more'n a little lately; and I vum I thought
'twas you 't sat beside little Lottie at the Ladies' Aid supper t'other
night an' treated her to ice-cream till the child liketer
bust--er--haw! haw! haw!"
"Aw, you don't need glasses, Walky. What _you_ need is blinders,"
growled Marty with some impatience.
"Ya-as; I've been tol' that before," said the incorrigible joker. "Folks
don't take kindly to the idee of my havin' sech sharp eyes, neither. I
undertook to tell _you_ a thing or two, Jase, some time ago 'bout that
Tom Hotchkiss; but ye wouldn't see it with my eyes."
"If I seen everything and everybody in the town the way you seen it,
Walky, I'd get as twisted as a dumbed sas'fras root," snarled Uncle
Jason.
"Ye wouldn't ha' been so twisted about Tom," Walky said placidly. He was
as thick-skinned as a walrus and the cut direct did not in the least
trouble him.
"I tell ye, I 'member what that feller was when he was a boy," he
pursued. "Bad blood, there--bad blood."
"By mighty!" ejaculated Uncle Jason. "Cale Hotchkiss was as square a
feller as ever walked on sole-leather. I'm glad he's dead. If he'd lived
to see his son turn out so bad----"
"'Twarn't Caleb Hotchkiss' blood I was referrin' to," Walky struck in.
"Caleb merried one o' them Pickberry gals over to Bowling. An' you know
well enough what them Pickberrys was. As for this here Tom, he was as
sly as a skunk-bear when he was a boy."
"For goodness' sake!" interrupted Janice, hoping to divert the tide of
Walky's talk. "What is a 'skunk-bear'?"
"Wolverine," explained her cousin quickly. "And the meanest creature
that ever got on a line of traps. Hey, Walky?"
"Now you've said it, boy," agreed the expressman. "An' that remin's me
of one of the meanest things that Tom Hotchkiss done when he was a boy."
"Oh, well!" grunted Uncle Jason, who evidently disliked the discussion
of Tom's short-comings. "They say George Washington cut down his
father's favorite cherry tree; yet he grew up to be president."
"Huh! but he didn't lie about it--_that's_ why he got to be president,"
said the astute Walkworthy. "And Tom Hotchkiss lied about this mean
thing _he_ done."
"Wal! let's have it," Mr. Day said, with a sigh. "It'll choke ye I can
plainly see if ye ain't allowed to unburden your soul."
Walky began to stuff his pipe out of Mr. Day's tobacco sack that he had
appropriated from the shelf beside the door.
"Ye see," he said, "Tom worked for ol' man Ketcham a while--him that run
the dairy farm over Middletown way. But Tom never did work long in one
place when he was a boy. _That_ oughter told ye something, Jase."
Mr. Day grunted. Marty said:
"Go on with your story, Walky. Who told you you was the law and the
prophets?"
"I was prophet enough about how Tom Hotchkiss was a-comin' aout,"
chuckled Walky. "Wal! howsomever, old Ketcham run quite a dairy for them
days. He bought up all the neighbors' milk, too, and made butter and
cheese. I expect 'twould ha' been called a crematory to-day."
"Ho, ho!" shouted Marty. "That's a hot one. Creamery, you mean, Walky."
"Oh, do I?" said the unruffled Mr. Dexter. "Wal, mebbe I do. Anyhow, he
stood Tom and his tricks quite a spell--he was slow to wrath, was old
Ketcham, bein' a Quaker by persuasion; but bimeby Tom got too much for
him and he turned him away. Tom was a great practical joker--oh, yes!
But he was one o' them kind that gits mad when the joke's turned on
themselves. So he was sore on the Ketchams."
"Huh! he ain't the only one geared that-a-way," put in Mr. Day.
"No; but he was about the only feller I ever knowed that 'ud ha' thunk
up sech a mean way of gittin' square with old Ketcham."
"What did he do?" demanded Marty, becoming impatient at the
expressman's leisurely tale, while Aunt 'Mira got up and began to stir
about the kitchen, clearing the supper table. She often confessed to
Janice that it gave her legs "the twidgets" to listen to one of Walky's
long-drawn-out stories.
"Why--he, he!--'twas funny, tubbesure. The old man stored his butter in
a stone spring-haouse. The spring was under the floor and cooled the
place nicely. Both ends of the buildin' was jest slats 'bout an inch
apart, so's to let the air through but keep most critters aout.
"Now, jest about the time old man Ketcham got through with Tom
Hotchkiss, Tom, he discovered there was a ol' she-skunk with a young
fambly in the neighborhood. 'Tain't no trick a-tall to l'arn when a
polecat is located near by, ye know; all ye gotter do, as the fellers
says, is ter foller yer nose--haw! haw! haw!
"Tom was mad clean through when Mr. Ketcham turned him away. Didn't take
him long, I vum! ter link up them skunks with his idea of
vengeance--nossir!" Walky said reflectively. "And he perceeded to put
his idee into practice."
"What did he do, Walky?" asked Marty again. "Ye might give us a hint."
"Oh, I'm gittin' to it," said the expressman placidly. "He toled them
skunks into the spring-haouse. That's what he done."
"How?" asked Marty, now interested, while the other listeners expressed
their several opinions of the young rascal's trick.
"Lard. A lard trail. Skunks love lard er any grease. Tom laid the trail
to the spring-haouse and then yanked off two of the lower slats. Plenty
room for the biggest skunk livin' to git through. Then he chucked a lump
of grease inside, after which he skun out."
"And what happened, Walky?" Janice asked.
"Why, when ol' Miz' Ketcham went aout to the spring-haouse in the
morning, there was Miz' Skunk an' four skunk kittens camping in the
middle of the floor. She seen 'em through the slats an' didn't darest
open the door."
"Couldn't she frighten them out?" asked Nelson.
"Schoolmaster!" said Walky, chuckling, "I'm surprised at your ignerance.
Ye sartain sure don't know much about the nature of skunks."
"I admit my failing," Nelson said, smiling. "I've never been much
interested in skunkology."
"Ye might be--an' with profit," said Walky, more briskly. "I understand
their fur's wuth more'n most animals ye kin trap nowadays.
"Howsomever, the skunk is 'bout the boldest critter that runs wild. Let
'em alone and they'll let you alone. But they ain't afeard of nothin' on
two laigs or four--or that flies in the air, neither. When ye see a
skunk in the path, go 'round it."
"We do," chuckled Marty. "He's got right of way."
"An' don't never try to chase one or poke one--'nless ye have a mighty
long pole," said Walky Dexter. "Miz' Ketcham, she knowed that. The skunk
an' her four kittens was camped in that spring-haouse an' they seemed to
like it. No way of coaxin' 'em aout and there was two hunder' pound o'
June butter in the place."
"Oh!" exclaimed Janice.
"Dear suz!" was Aunt 'Mira's comment. "Why didn't they shoot 'em?"
"Huh!" grunted Uncle Jason.
"The man ain't never drawed the breath o' life yet could shoot a skunk
quick enough," Walky declared. "No, ma'am! And there was five in that
bunch. Miz' Ketcham was jest as mad as she could be. She knowed that if
anything riled 'em while they was quartered in that spring-haouse ev'ry
pound of butter stored there would be sp'ilt.
"While they was projectin' around, and a-wonderin' what to do about it,
a little fice-dog they owned settled things for 'em--and settled it
quick. He was a fool dog and he proberbly took old Lady Skunk for a
tabbycat. Seein' her inside the spring-haouse he nosed around till he
found the openin' she'd got in by. He squeezed himself in an' then--wal,
good-_night_!
"They heard the dog a ky-yi-ing and smelled the smoke of battle from
afar--haw! haw! haw! Jefers-pelters!" ejaculated Walky. "They tell me
that after they'd burned all the butter an' butter firkins an' the hull
inside of the spring-haouse--purgin' by fire as the Good Book says--the
odor still lingered.
"An' that's one o' the tricks Tom Hotchkiss done. Lied about it, o'
course. Said he didn't. But to them that was his cronies he boasted
about it. I had _my_ doubts of him when he come back to Polktown, nobody
knowed from where; and I could ha' told ye, Jase----"
"Too late! too late!" groaned Mr. Day. "All you hind-sight prophets
can't do me no good."
It was a bitter cry, and Aunt 'Mira sniveled as she stood over the
dish-pan. Marty shuffled heavily as he grabbed his cap and made his way
toward the door.
"I'm goin' over to the lib'ry for a book," he explained huskily, and
went out.
Janice and Nelson soon retired to the sitting room while the three older
people carried on a desultory conversation for the next hour. Suddenly
there came a tapping on the sitting room window by Nelson's chair. He
pulled aside the shade a little and glanced out.
What he saw made him start suddenly to his feet. "Who is it?" asked
Janice, busy with the fancy-work in her lap.
"Somebody who evidently wishes to speak with me in private," Nelson told
her with a smile. "I'll be right back."
He went out through the kitchen and found Marty standing in the yard--a
very white-faced and trembling Marty, quite unlike his usual self.
"What is it? What has happened?" the schoolmaster asked sharply.
"Oh, Mr. Haley! I can't tell her--I can't let her know it."
"Whom are you talking about--your mother?"
"No. It's Janice."
"What has happened to Janice?" demanded Nelson, his voice changing.
"It's her dad--it's Uncle Brocky!" gasped Marty. "It's in to-day's New
York paper. I just happened to see it as they was putting it on the
file. I got it here," and the boy drew the folded newspaper from his
pocket.