UNCLE NABOTH’S REVENGE.
Ten days later, having paid all our indebtedness and converted every
ounce of our gold into ready money that was deposited to the credit of
“Perkins & Steele,” at the bank, we started on what Uncle Naboth called
our “voyage” across the continent.
We had both taken a strong liking for Ned Britton, who has stood by us
so faithfully at the island; so Mr. Perkins decided to make Ned the mate
of the new ship, when she had been purchased. For this reason, and
because the sailor wished to revisit some of his relatives in the East
and make them happy by sharing with them his prize money, Ned also
traveled on the same train with us.
“Britton’s judgment will be useful in helping us to pick out a ship,”
said the old man. “I’m glad he’s going with us.”
Nux and Bryonia had promptly deserted the “Flipper” as soon as they
found that Captain Gay had purchased her, and I think my hardest task
was to leave the simple black men behind me. They declared that they
belonged to “the firm” and must be given places on the new ship, and
this both Uncle Naboth and I were anxious to do, as we knew we could
never again find such loyal and unselfish servants. But it would be
folly to take them east until all arrangements had been made. So I found
them comfortable lodgings, and supplied them with all the money they
could possibly require until they were sent for. At the last moment they
were at the station to see the train move away, and were so fearful of
the iron monster that was to carry their friends on the journey that
they cautioned me again and again to be very careful in my actions.
“’Fore all, Mars Sam,” said Nux, earnestly, “doan’ you go skeer dat
injine on no ’count. W’en it’s skeert it smashes ev’ything into mush.”
“’Pears gentle ’nouf now, Sam,” added Bry; “but don’ you trust it, no
how. ’Tain’t safe, like a great sail an’ a stiff breeze.”
“Right you are, lad,” cried Uncle Naboth, approvingly. “Injines is an
invention of the devil, Bry, but good Christians can use ’em if they
only watch out. An’ now, good bye, an’ take care o’ yourselves till we
get back or send for you.”
On account of our great wealth, Mr. Perkins had decided to take a
tourist sleeping-car for the trip, rather than sit up in the seats of
the common cars all night.
“Sleepin’ cars is a genuine luxury, Sam,” he said, “an’ only fit for the
very rich, who’ve got so much money they won’t miss it, or the very
poor, who’ve got so little there’s no use savin’ it. I guess we can
afford the treat and the bunks in this ’ere tourist car is jest as big
as the ones in the high-priced coaches ahead. So as soon as we get clear
of ’Frisco, let’s go to bed.”
“But it isn’t dark yet, Uncle,” I protested. “It won’t be bedtime for
hours.”
“Sam,” replied the old man, earnestly, “do you mean to say you’re goin’
to pay for a bed and let it lay idle? That’s what I call rank
extravagance! I’ve seen it done, on my travels, o’ course. I’ve known a
man to pay three dollars for a bed, an’ then set up half the night in
the smokin’ cars before he turns in. But do you s’pose the railroad
company pays him back half the money? Never. They just laughs at him and
keeps the whole three dollars! To pay for a thing, and use it, ain’t
extravagance; but to buy a bed, and then set up half the night is. Why,
it’s like payin’ for a table-day-haughty dinner an’ then skippin’ half
the courses! Would a sensible man do that?”
“Not if he’s hungry, Uncle,” said I, laughing at this philosophy.
“If he ain’t hungry, he buys a sandwich, an’ not a table-day-haughty,”
cried Uncle Naboth, triumphantly.
Nevertheless, being fully conscious of my newly acquired wealth, I
recklessly sat up until bedtime, while my thrifty Uncle occupied his
“bunk” and snored peacefully. The journey was accomplished in safety,
and from Boston we took the little railway to the seaport town of
Batteraft.
During the last hours of the trip Uncle Naboth had become very
thoughtful, and I frequently noticed him making laborious memoranda with
his pencil on the backs of envelopes and scraps of paper which he took
from his wallet. Finally I asked:
“What are you writing, Uncle?”
“I’m jest jotting down the things I mean to say to that old female shark
at Batteraft,” was the reply. “I tell you, Sam, she’s goin’ to have the
talkin’-to of her life, when I get at her; and she’ll deserve every word
of it. I’ll let you pay her first, so’s the money account will be
square; an’ then I’ll try to square the moral account.”
“Will she let you?” I enquired doubtfully, for I had a vivid remembrance
of Mrs. Ranck’s dislike of any opposition.
“She can’t help herself,” replied Uncle Naboth, seriously. “If you knew
the things she up an’ said to me that day I tackled her before, Sam, an’
the harsh an’ impident tones she used to say ’em with, you’d realize how
much my revenge means to me.”
“Why didn’t you resent it then, Uncle?”
“Why, she took me by surprise, an’ I didn’t have time to collect my
parrergraphs, and that’s the reason. Also it’s the reason I’m figgerin’
out my speeches aforehand this time, so’s I won’t be backwards when the
time comes. You can’t thrash the cantankerous old termagen’ like you
would a man, but you can lash her with speeches that cuts like a
two-edged sword. At sarcasm and ironical I’m quite a professor, Sam; but
them talents would be wasted on Mrs. Ranck. With her I’ll open my vials
o’ wrath an’ empty ’em to the dregs. I’ll wither her with scorn,
an’—an’—an’ tell her just what I think o’ her,” he concluded, rather
lamely.
I sighed, for the mention of Mrs. Ranck always recalled to me the fate
of my poor father. The landscape began to grow very familiar now, and
presently the train swung into the little station where I had so often
stood in my younger days to watch the passengers get on and off the
cars.
Ned Britton at once walked on to the tavern, but as the afternoon was
only half gone Uncle Naboth and I decided to go on up to my father’s old
home without delay and have our carefully planned interview with Mrs.
Ranck. The banknotes I was to pay to her lay crisply in my new
pocket-book, and I was eager to be free of my debt to the cruel woman
who had aspersed my dead father’s character and driven me from my old
home.
Uncle Naboth walked very fast at first, but while we ascended the little
hill his pace grew gradually slower, and as we reached the
well-remembered bench beneath the trees, from whence our first view of
the cottage was obtained, my uncle suddenly set himself down and wiped
the perspiration from his forehead with the well-remembered crimson
handkerchief.
“We’ll rest a minute, Sam, so’s I can get my breath back,” he gasped.
“I’ll need it all, presently, and hill-climbin’ ain’t my ’special
accomplishment.”
So I sat down beside him and waited patiently, eyeing the while rather
sadly the old home where I had once been so happy.
It seemed not to have changed in any way since I left it. The blinds of
my little room in the attic were closed, but those of the lower floor
were thrown back, and a column of thin smoke ascended lazily from the
chimney, showing that the place was still inhabited.
In spite of myself I shivered. The autumn air struck me as being chilly
for the first time, and the declining sun moved slowly behind a cloud,
throwing the same gloom over the landscape that was already in my heart.
“Are you ready, Uncle?” I asked, unable to bear the suspense longer.
“Jest a minute, Sam. Let’s see; the opening shot was this way: There’s
folks, ma’am, that can be more heartless than the brute beasts, more
slyer than a roarin’ tiger, more fiercer than a yellow fox, an’—”
“That isn’t right, Uncle Naboth,” I interrupted. “The fox is sly and the
tiger—”
“I know, I know. Them speeches is gettin’ sorter mixed in my mind; but
if that she-devil don’t quail when she hears ’em, my name ain’t Naboth
Perkins! Perhaps I ought to have committed ’em more to memory—eh, Sam?
What do you say to waitin’ till tomorrow?”
“No, Uncle. Let’s go to her now. You can reserve your vials of wrath, if
you want to; but I shan’t sleep a wink unless I pay Mrs. Ranck that
money.”
“All right,” said the old man, with assumed cheerfulness. “There’s no
time like the present. ‘Never put off ’til tomorrer,’ you know. Come
along, my lad!”
He sprang up and led the way with alacrity for a few steps, and then
slackened his pace perceptibly.
“If I’m goin’ to forget all them speeches,” he whispered, in a voice
that trembled slightly, “I might jest as well have saved my time
a-composin’ of ’em. Drat the old she-pirate! If she wasn’t a woman, I’d
pitch her into the sea.”
By this time I was myself too much agitated to pay attention to my
uncle’s evident fright on the eve of battle. The house was very near
now; a few steps further and we were standing upon the little porch.
“You knock, Uncle,” I said, in a whisper.
Uncle Naboth glanced at me reproachfully, and then raised his knuckles.
But before they touched the panel of the door he paused, drew out his
handkerchief, and again wiped his brow.
I felt that my nerves would hear no further strain. With the desperation
of despair or a sudden accession of courage—I never knew which—I rapped
loudly upon the door.
A moment’s profound silence was followed by a peculiar sound. Thump,
thump, thump! echoed from the room inside, at regular intervals, and
then the door was suddenly opened and a man with a wooden leg stood
before us. He was clothed in sailor fashion and a bushy beard ornamented
his round, frank face.
For an instant we three stood regarding one another in mute wonder. The
open door disclosed the long living-room, at the back end of which Mrs.
Ranck stood by the kitchen table with a plate in one hand and a towel in
the other, motionless as a marble statue and with a look of terror fixed
upon her white face.
Singularly enough, I was the first to recover from my surprise.
“Dad!” I cried, in a glad voice, and threw myself joyfully into the
sailor man’s arms.
“Why—Cap’n Steele, sir—what does this mean?” faltered Uncle Naboth. “I
thought you was dead an’ gone long ago, an’ safe in Davy Jones’s
locker!”