A SEWING MACHINE AGENT.
On arriving within sight of Amora, I had reason to congratulate myself
that I had brought Larkins along as convoy.
Amora was by no means a city, but it was large enough to make a search
after Mr. Dwight a proceeding possibly lengthy, and perhaps difficult.
Larkins knew all about it. We drove past the Seminary, quite a large and
imposing structure, surrounded by neat and tastefully laid out grounds,
through a cheery-looking business street, and across a bridge, over a
hill, and thence down a street which, while it was clean, well built,
and thrifty of aspect, was evidently not the abode of Amora's _la beau
monde_.
In another moment Larkins was pulling in his reins before a large,
unpainted dwelling, in front of which stood a pole embellished with the
legend, "Boarding House."
Several inquiring faces could be seen through the open windows, and the
squeak of an untuneful violin smote our ears, as we approached the door.
Larkins, who seemed very much at home, threw open the street door; we
turned to the right, and were almost instantly standing in a large,
shabbily-furnished parlor.
Two of the aforementioned faces, carried on the shoulders of two
blowzy-looking young women, were vanishing through a rear door, through
which the tones of the violin sounded louder and shriller than before.
Three occupants still remained in the room, and to one of these,
evidently the "landlady," Larkins addressed himself.
"Good evening, Mrs. Cole. We want to see Ed. I hear his fiddle, so I
s'pose he can be seen?"
Proffering us two hard, uninviting chairs, Mrs. Cole vanished, and,
through the half-closed door, we could hear her voice, evidently
announcing our presence, but the violin and "Lannigan's Ball" went on to
the end. Like another musical genius known to fame, Mr. Dwight evidently
considered "music before all else."
With the last note of the violin came the single syllable, "Eh?" in a
voice not unpleasant, but unnecessarily loud.
Mrs. Cole repeated her former sentence; there was the sound of some one
rising, quick steps crossed the floor and, as the door swung inward to
admit Mr. Dwight, I advanced quickly and with extended hand.
When he halted before me, however, I stepped back in feigned surprise
and confusion.
[Illustration: "When he halted before me, however, I stepped back in
feigned surprise and confusion."--page 213.]
But Dwight was equal to the occasion. Before I could drop or withdraw
my hand, he seized it in his own large palm, and shook it heartily, the
most jovial of smiles lighting his face meanwhile.
"You've got the advantage of me, just now," he said, in the same loud,
cheery tone we had heard from the kitchen, "but I'm glad to see you, all
the same. Larkins! hallo, Larkins, how are you," and, dropping my hand
as suddenly as he had grasped it, Dwight turned to salute Larkins.
When their greeting was over, I stammered forth my explanation.
I had made a mistake. Mr. DeWhyte must pardon it. Hearing at Clyde that
a Mr. DeWhyte was living in Amora, and that he was engaged in the sale
of sewing machines, I had supposed it to be none other than an old
school friend of that name, who, when last I heard of him, was general
agent for a city machine manufactory. It was a mistake which I trusted
Mr. DeWhyte would pardon. I then presented my card and retired within
myself.
But the genial Dwight was once more "happy to know me." Shifting his
violin, which he had brought into the room, from underneath his left
elbow, he rested it upon his knee, and launched into a series of
questions concerning my suppositious friend, which resulted in the
discovery that their names, though similar, were not the same, and that
the existence of a Mr. Edward DeWhyte and of Ed. Dwight, both following
the same occupation, was not after all a very remarkable coincidence,
although one liable to cause mistakes like the one just made by me.
After this we were more at our ease. I proffered my cigar case, and both
Larkins and Dwight accepted weeds, Dwight remarking, as he arose to take
some matches from a card-board match safe under the chimney, that,
"smoking was permitted in the parlor," adding, as he struck a match on
the sole of his boot, that he "believed in comfort, and would not board
where they were too high-toned to allow smoking."
Conversation now became general; rather Larkins, Dwight, and the two
hitherto silent "boarders" talked, and I listened, venturing only an
occasional remark, and studying my "subject" with secret interest.
"When are you comin' our way again, Dwight?" asked Larkins, as, after an
hour's chat, we rose to take our leave.
"I don't know, Lark.; I don't know," said Dwight, inserting his hands in
his pockets and jingling some loose coin or keys as he replied. "I don't
think I'll make many more trips."
"Sho! Ye ain't goin' to take a new route, I hope?"
"N-no; I think I'll try a new deal. I've got a little down on the S. M.
biz., and talk of taking up my old trade."
"What! the show business?"
"Yes; I've got a pretty good chance for salary, and guess I'll go down
south and do a little of the heel and toe business this Winter,"
rattling his heels by way of emphasis.
This fragment of conversation was a mine which I worked faithfully
during our Clydeward drive, manifesting an interest in Mr. Ed. Dwight
which quite met with the approval of Larkins, and which he was very
ready to build up and gratify.
I remained in Clyde that night, and before retiring to rest in the tiny
room assigned me in the "hotel," I made the following entry in my
note-book:
Ed. Dwight, sewing machine agent, living at Amora, is taller
than the medium, but slender, and of light weight, being narrow
of chest, with slim and slightly bowed legs, and long arms that
are continually in motion; large, nervous hands; small head,
with close-cropped curly black hair; fine regular features,
that would be handsome but for the unhealthy, sallow
complexion, and the look of dissipation about the eyes; said
eyes very black, restless and bold of expression; mouth
sensual, and shaded by a small, black mustache; teeth, white
and rather prominent.
He is full of life and animation; an inveterate joker, his
"chaff" being his principal conversational stock in trade. He
is loud of speech, somewhat coarse in manner, rakish in dress,
and possesses wonderful self-confidence. He is considered a
dangerous fellow among the country girls, and gets credit for
making many conquests. Is fickle in his fancies, and, like the
sailor, seems to have a sweetheart in every port.
He is a singer of comic songs, a scraper upon the violin, and a
some time song and dance man.
Has sold sewing machines for nearly three years in Amora and
vicinity, and is now preparing to return to the stage and to go
South.
Early the next morning I bade Larkins a friendly farewell, and turned my
face toward Trafton.
Nothing noteworthy had occurred during my absence. Blake and Dimber Joe
had observed Sunday in the most decorous fashion, attending divine
worship, but not together, and remained in and about the hotel all the
rest of the day and evening, treating each other as entire strangers,
and, so far as Carnes could discover, never once exchanging word or
glance.
One thing Carnes had noted as peculiar: Jim Long had haunted the hotel
all day, manifesting a lively interest in our city birds, watching them
furtively, entering into conversation with one or the other as
opportunity offered, and contriving, while seeming to lounge as
carelessly as usual, to keep within sight of them almost constantly
during the day and evening.
Dr. Barnard was still in a critical condition; Carnes had not seen
Bethel since Saturday.
"And what elephant's tracks did ye's find till the south av us?"
queried Carnes, after he had given me the foregoing information. "Any
'nish' lairs, quiet fences, or cosy jungles, eh?"
Whereupon I gave him a full description of the journey over the south
road, reserving only the portion of my yesterday's experience that
concerned, for the present, only Mr. Ed. Dwight and myself.
"So there's nothing to get out of that," said Carnes, after listening to
my recital with a serious countenance. "What do you think _now_, old
man? If they don't run their booty over that road, where the mischief
_do_ they take it?"
"That we must find out," I replied. "And in order to do that we must
investigate in a new direction."
"How?"
"Think a moment. We decided at the first that these systematic thieves
had, _must have_, a rendezvous within half a night's ride from Trafton."
"Yes; an' I stick to that theory."
"So do I. All these robberies have been committed at distances never
more than twenty-five miles from Trafton; often less, but _never more_."
"Just so."
"Within a radius of twenty-five miles around Trafton, east, north, and
west, and at all intermediate points, it has not been safe to own a good
horse. There is but one break in this unsafe circle and that is to the
south. Now, that south road, one day, or _two_ days, after a robbery,
would be anything but safe for a midnight traveler, who rode a swift
going horse or drove with a light buggy. Carnes, get your map and study
out my new theory thereon."
Carnes produced his map and spread it out upon his knee, and I followed
his example with my own.
"Now, observe," I began, "the south road runs straight and smooth for
twenty miles, intersected regularly by the mile sections."
"Yes."
"Until a little north of Clyde, two miles, I believe they call it, a
more curving irregular road runs southeast. Now, follow that road."
"I'm after it."
"It continues southeast for nearly ten miles, then the road forks."
"Yes."
"One fork, running directly south, takes you straight to some coal beds
at Norristown--"
"Aye, aye!"
"The other runs beyond the county line and it is not on our maps; it
takes an easterly course for nearly twenty miles, terminating at the
river."
"Ah! I begin to see!"
"From Trafton to the river, then, is a little more than forty miles.
You cross the river and are in another State. Up and down the river, for
many miles, you have heavy timber; not far inland you find several
competing railroads. Now, my belief is, that after the excitement
following these robberies has had time to die out, the horses are
hurried over this fifty miles of country, and across the river, and kept
in the timber until it is quite safe to ship them to a distant market."
"But meantime, before they are taken to the river, where are they
ambushed, then?"
"Under our very noses; here in Trafton!"
Carnes stared at me in consternation.
"Old man," he said, at last, drawing a long, deep breath, "you are
either insane--or inspired."
"I believe I have caught an inspiration. But time will test my idea,
'whether it be from the gods or no.' These outlaws have proven
themselves cunning, and fertile of brain. Who would think of overhauling
Trafton for these stolen horses? The very boldness of the proceeding
insures its safety."
"I should think so. And how do you propose to carry out your search?"
"We must begin at once, trusting to our wits for ways and means. In some
way we must see or know the contents of every barn, stable, granary,
store-house, outbuilding, and abandoned dwelling, in and about Trafton.
No man's property, be he what he may, must be held exempt."
"Do you think, then, that the stolen horses, the last haul of course,
are still in Trafton?"
"It is not quite a week since the horses were taken; the 'nine days'
wonder' is still alive. If my theory is correct, they are still in
Trafton!"