JIM.
A whistle blew; the little tug strained at its cable, and snorting and
puffing in the supreme struggle it drew the great steamer "Plymouth"
away from its dock to begin its journey down the river to the open lake
and thence, discarding its tug, across mighty Michigan to Iroquois Bay,
Tamawaca, and the quaint city of Kochton.
The passengers thronged both the ample decks to catch the cooling
breeze that came as soon as they were in motion, for the day had been
especially warm for June. The older folks drew long lines of chairs to
the rails, while the young people walked up and down, chattering and
gay. To nearly all the voyage meant the beginning of a holiday, and
hearts were light and faces eager and expectant.
Jarrod had no sooner located his family in a comfortable corner than he
was attracted by a young man who sauntered by.
"Why, Jim, is it you?" he exclaimed, jumping up to hold out a hand in
greeting.
The other paused, as if astonished, but then said in a cordial tone:
"You here, Mr. Jarrod?"
He was a tall, athletic looking fellow, with a fine face, a
straightforward look in his eyes and a clean-cut air about him that
was pleasant to behold. Jarrod had recognized him as the only son of
a man he had known in St. Louis--a man very prominent and wealthy, he
remembered.
"What are you doing here, Jim?" he enquired.
"Why, I live in Chicago now, you know," was the reply.
"You do?"
"Didn't you know, sir? I left home over a year ago. I'm hoeing my own
row now, Mr. Jarrod."
"What's wrong, Jim?"
"Father and I couldn't agree. He wanted me to take to the patent
medicine business, because he has made a fortune in it."
"Very natural," nodding.
"The poor father suffers a good deal from rheumatism, you know; so as
soon as I left college he proposed to turn over to me the manufacture
and sale of his great rheumatism cure."
"Ah."
"And I balked, Mr. Jarrod. I said the proprietor of a rheumatism cure
had no business to suffer from rheumatism, or else no business to sell
the swindling remedy."
"To be sure. I know your father, Jim, so I can imagine what happened,
directly you made that statement. Did he give you anything when
you--er--parted?"
"Not a sou. I'm earning my own living."
"Good. But how?"
"They don't take a boy just out of college for the president of a bank
or the director of a railway. I'm just a clerk in Marshall Field's."
Jarrod looked him over, critically. The cheap new summer suit--perhaps
it had cost fifteen dollars--could not disguise his manly bearing.
On another man it might have proclaimed its cheapness; on Jim no one
noticed its texture.
"How much do you earn?" asked the lawyer, quietly.
"Twelve dollars a week. But it's an interesting experience, Mr.
Jarrod. You've no idea how well a fellow can live on twelve dollars a
week--unless you've tried it."
Jarrod smiled.
"Where are you bound for?" he asked.
"A little place called Tamawaca, there to spend my two weeks'
vacation. Just think of it! After fourteen months I've saved enough for
an outing. It isn't a princely sum, to be sure--nothing like what I
spent in a day at college--but by economy I can make it do me in that
out-of-the-way place, where the hotel board is unusually cheap."
"I'm told it is as bad as it is cheap," said Jarrod.
"That stands to reason, sir. I'm not expecting much but rest and
sunshine and fresh air--and perhaps a nice girl to dance with in the
evening.
"I see."
"And, by the way, Mr. Jarrod," this with some hesitation, "please
don't tell anyone who I am, if you're asked. I call myself James
Ingram--Ingram was my mother's name, you know--and I'd rather people
wouldn't know who my father is, or why I'm living in this modest way.
They would either blame me or pity me, and I won't endure either from
strangers, for it's none of their business."
"I'll remember, Jim. Will you let me present you to Mrs. Jarrod?"
"Not tonight, please. This meeting has a little upset me. Wait till I
get settled a bit. You're going to Tamawaca."
"Yes. We shall spend the summer there, if we like it."
"Then, sir, I'll be sure to see you again. Good night, Mr. Jarrod."
The young man walked on, and the lawyer looked after him approvingly.
"He'll do," he muttered. "He hasn't crushed down the pride yet, and
I hope he never will. But he's got a backbone, and that's worth
everything!"
In drawing a chair to the rail he found that seated beside him was the
little fat man he had noticed at the Annex. This jovial individual was
smoking a big cigar and leaning back contentedly with his feet against
the bulwark. Jarrod thought the expression upon the round face invited
companionship.
"Going to Tamawaca?" he asked.
"Yep," said Geo. B. Still.
"Been there before?" continued Jarrod, leaning back in turn.
"Yep. Own a cottage there."
"Oh," said the other; "then I'm glad to meet you."
"Because I own a cottage?"
"No; because you can tell me something about the place."
"Sure thing!" responded Geo. B. "Climate's fine. When I first went
there I had a bad case of indigestion. Doc said I was as good as dead.
Told me to eat toasted straw for breakfast and have my wife get her
black ready. Look at me now! Would a crape manufacturer smile at my
picture? Pshaw!"
"You seem very well," remarked Jarrod. "Was it the breakfast food, or
the climate?"
"Climate, I guess. My taste don't run to breakfast foods. I'd make
a poor horse. So I shovelled in plenty of welsh rabbits and lobster
newburgs and corn fritters and such remedies, an' washed 'em down
with good beer and a few bottles of sherry. Why, sir, the treatment
worked like magic! Digestion perfect--pulse reg'lar--spirits gay and
unconfined--happiness rampant. That Tamawaca climate's a peach."
"Do you think I can rent a cottage there?"
"Sure. Ask Wilder. He'll fix you."
"Is there a grocery handy, where one can purchase supplies?"
"Yep. Wilder runs it."
"And a meat market?"
"Wilder's."
"Can I rent a good boat, for fishing?"
"Wilder has 'em."
"Good. Dear me! I forgot to get a bathing suit in Chicago."
"Never mind. Wilder's Bazaar has 'em. Two dollars for the dollar kind."
"What time does the boat get to Tamawaca?"
"Four o'clock in the morning. But you stay on board and ride to
Kochton, and get your sleep out. Then, in the morning you take a
trolley back to Tam. The steamer puts your baggage off at Iroquois Bay,
just across the channel."
"What becomes of it?"
"Wilder ferries it over for twenty-five cents a piece. It's too far to
jump."
"But isn't that a heavy charge?"
"Not for Wilder. It's a good deal, of course, but Wilder's deals are
always good--for Wilder. You're lucky he don't take the baggage."
"Oh. Is he that kind?"
"Exactly. What you get, you get of Wilder. What Wilder hasn't got, you
don't get. When you allow for expenses you want to figure on so many
dollars for living, and so much to Wilder for letting you live."
"But that's an outrage."
Geo. B. laughed.
"It always strikes a stranger that way--till he gets used to it," he
said. "I've been to a good many summer resorts, in my day, and always
there's somebody on hand to relieve the innocent resorter of his wad.
If there wasn't, you'd feel you'd missed something. It's like going
to law--don't matter much which lawyer you go to, you're bound to be
robbed."
Jarrod smiled.
"Therefore, if you want Tamawaca, sir, you've just got to take Wilder
with it," resumed the little man; "and perhaps you couldn't be half so
happy there if Wilder was gone."
"Does he own the place?"
"Of course. He and old man Easton. Wilder has one-third and old man
Easton two-thirds of the whole place; but then, Easton also has Wilder,
just the same as all the rest of us have him."
"What sort of a man is Easton?"
"Fine old religious duffer, who loves to pray for your spiritual
well-fare while he feels for your pocket-book. Public opinion's divided
between the two partners. Some say Wilder's a highwayman and Easton's
a robber, while others claim Easton's the highwayman and Wilder's the
robber. You can take your choice."
"What a bad state of affairs!" ejaculated Jarrod, with twinkling eyes.
"I'm sorry the boat has started."
"Never mind. It isn't as bad as Atlantic City, by a long shot. Why,
last year a friend of mine went to Atlantic City with a letter of
credit and an automobile, and in three months he was working at the
hotel for money enough to get home and the hotel man was riding in his
automobile. Tamawaca isn't as bad as that, so sit up and look pleasant.
Tamawaca's the gem of the world--a heaven for loafers, lovers,
bridge-players and students of nature--including human. You'll like it
there. But as for Wilder and Easton--say! any combination lock on your
inside pocket?"
"No."
"Then use a safety pin, and keep your coat buttoned."
Jarrod smiled again. His spirits rose. He scented battle as a cat
scents cream. Here was a delightful condition of affairs existing in
a tucked-away resort where he was going to spend the summer, and the
chances were he would be amply amused. Any capricious manifestation of
human nature was sure to charm him, no matter what phase it exhibited,
and the man who had for years fought and conquered the terrible Crosbys
was not likely to shrink from a pair so frankly enterprising as Easton
and Wilder seemed to be. And, if he must put in three long months at
Tamawaca, Jarrod simply _had_ to be amused.
He slept well on the boat that night--the first sound sleep he had
enjoyed for months.