TIMMY, THE GENTLEMAN, AT HOME
"Oh, won't life seem stale when we get back into the land of crowded
business streets and schoolhouses?" grumbled Reade, as, perched
on the seat of the camp wagon, he drove out onto the highway the
next morning, followed by the other members of Dick & Co. on foot.
"No, sir!" Darry retorted. "Life won't seem stale on that account.
Instead, it will be brightened by the pleasant recollection of
this summer's fun, which is now so soon to be ended."
"You're not going through Fenton, are you, Dick?" asked Greg.
"I guess we'll have to. We were pretty well cleaned out of some
of our provisions last night. We shall have to replenish our
food supply, and Fenton is the only real town along our route
to-day. The rest are small farming villages."
"But we'll attract a lot of attention," declared Holmes.
"You won't," laughed Darry. "You didn't go to town with us last
night, and consequently you're not known there."
"I'd rather not go through the town myself," Dick explained, "but
it seems to me that as long as we must purchase supplies we ought
to make a stop in the town that's likely to have the best stores."
Fenton's principal street had rather a sleepy look this hot August
morning. There were but few people abroad as Dick & Co. turned
into the main thoroughfare.
At Miller's place there was not a sign of life. "I'll wager that
brute is applying raw beef to his eyes this morning," muttered
Tom, somewhat vindictively.
Prescott's watchful glance soon discovered a provision store that
looked more than usually promising. At a word from him Tom reined
in the horse, while Prescott and Darrin went inside to make purchases.
When they came out they found Farmer Hartshorn and another man
talking with Tom Reade.
"You young men of Gridley don't look any the worse, this morning,
for the excitement you had last night," said Mr. Hartshorn, after
a cordial greeting. "Reade tells me that you left the milk-pail
at my house as you came along."
"Yes, sir," Dick nodded. "And with it, we left our very best
thanks for the fine treat that milk proved to be to us."
"Prescott, shake hands with Mr. Stark. He's our leading lawyer
in this little place."
"I've heard a good deal about you this morning," said the lawyer,
as he shook hands.
Mr. Stark was a tall, thin man, of perhaps forty-five years of
age. Warm as was the day he was attired wholly in black, a bit
rusty, and wore a high silk hat that was beginning to show signs
of age. He belonged to a type of rural lawyer that is now passing.
"I think we've heard of you, too," smiled Prescott innocently.
"Have you?" asked the lawyer, looking somewhat astonished.
"Yes," Dick went on. "I think it must have been your letter that
Mr. Reuben Hinman showed us one day. It was in regard to a bill
he had given you to collect. Mr. Hinman is in the hospital and
must need quite a bit of money just at present so I beg to express
the hope that you have been able to collect the other half of
the debt---the half that belongs to him."
Lawyer Stark reddened a good deal, despite his sallow skin.
"Why, what about that other half? What's the story?" questioned
Mr. Hartshorn, his eyes, twinkling as though he scented something
amusing.
"Oh---er---just a matter of business between a client and myself,"
the lawyer explained, in some confusion.
"And poor old Hinman was the client, eh?" asked the farmer.
"We don't know very much about the matter," Dave Darrin broke
in, a trifle maliciously, for he fell that it might be a good
thing to show up this lawyer's tricky work. "Mr. Hinman gave
Mr. Stark a bill of twenty dollars to collect, and-----"
"It was---er---all a matter of business between a client and myself,
and therefore of a confidential nature," Lawyer Stark broke in,
reddening still more.
But Dave was in no mood, just then, to be headed off so easily,
so he went on:
"Mr. Hinman showed us the letter, and asked us what we thought
of it, so that rather broke the confidential nature of the matter.
You see," turning to Mr. Hartshorn, "the bill was for twenty
dollars, and it seems that. Mr. Stark was to have half for his
trouble in collecting it. Now the letter that Mr. Hinman showed
us-----"
"I protest, young man!" exclaimed the lawyer.
"The letter," Darry went on calmly, "was to the effect that Mr.
Stark had collected his own half of the twenty dollars, and that
the collection of Mr. Hinman's half of the money seemed doubtful."
"Now, now, Stark!" exclaimed the farmer, looking sharply at the
lawyer. "Surely, that isn't your way of doing business with a
poor and aged client like Hinman!"
"I have collected the remainder of the bill, and am going to mail
a settlement to Mr. Hinman to-day," muttered the lawyer, trying
to look unconcerned. "All just a matter of routine office business,
Mr. Hartshorn."
But the lawyer felt wholly uncomfortable. He was thinking, at
that moment, that he would heartily enjoy kicking Darrin if the
latter didn't look so utterly healthy and uncommonly able to take
care of himself.
"Do I hear you discussing money that is due my father?" inquired
a voice behind them. "If so, my father is very ill, as you doubtless
know, and I would take pleasure in receiving the money on his
behalf."
Timothy Hinman, looking wholly the man of fashion, made this offer.
He had come up behind the group, and there was a look in his
eyes which seemed to say that the handling of some of the family
money would not be distasteful to him just then.
"I'll walk along with you to your office, Mr. Stark, and receipt
for the money, if you're headed that way," suggested the younger
Hinman again.
"Unless you hold a regular power of attorney from your father,
you could hardly give me a valid receipt," replied the lawyer
sourly, as he turned away from Mr. Hartshorn and the boys and
started down the street.
"Won't my receipt do until my father is up and about once more?"
pressed Timothy Hinman.
"No, sir; it won't," snapped the lawyer.
"Have you heard, this morning, how your father is?" Dick inquired.
"Just heard, at the post-office," Hinman answered. "My father
had a very bad day yesterday. Er---in fact, the chances, I am
sorry to say, appear to be very much against his recovery."
"He must feel the strain of his father's illness," observed Dave
sarcastically.
"He does!" retorted Mr. Hartshorn, with emphasis. "If old Reuben
dies young Timothy must go to work for a living. The disgrace
of toil will almost kill him. His two sisters are as bad as he
is. They've never done a stroke of work, either. All three have
lived on the poor old peddler's earnings all their lives, though
not one of the three would be willing to keep the old man's house
for him. There are a lot of sons and daughters like them to-day.
Perhaps there always have been."
Mr. Hartshorn waited until Dick and Dave had finished with the
purchases and had loaded them on the wagon.
Then the farmer shook hands with each member of Dick & Co.
"I'm coming up to Gridley to see the football game this Thanksgiving,"
he promised. "I hope I'll see as good a game as I did last year.
Anyway, I'll see the work of a mighty fine lot of young fellows."
Prescott expressed again the heartiest thanks of himself and friends
for the timely aid given them during the trouble in camp.
"We've lost so much time this morning that we'll have to hustle
for the rest of the day," Tom called down from the wagon seat,
as he started the horse.
An hour later they were more than three miles past Fenton.
"Get out of the way, Tom!" called Dave. "Drive up into someone's
yard like lightning. Here comes a whizz wagon that wants the
whole highway."
Behind them, its metal trimmings flashing in the sun, and leaving
a trail of dust in its wake, came an automobile traveling at least
sixty miles an hour.
Yet, fast as the car was going when it passed them, the speed
did not prevent one occupant from recognizing them and calling
out derisively. Then, half a mile ahead, the car stopped, turned,
and came slowly back toward the wondering Gridley boys.