AN INQUISITIVE STRANGER.
In a train, bound for Fardale, sat a peculiar-looking man and a
hunchback boy. The man was “Cap’n” Wiley, sometimes known as the marine
marvel, an eccentric individual who claimed to be a sailor. Wiley had
met Frank Merriwell, while the latter and his friends had been playing
baseball in the West.
The boy was known only as Abe. He had been reared amid wild and reckless
men, in a Western mining camp, where Frank had first seen him. The boy’s
helplessness, and his apparent superiority to his surroundings, had
interested Merriwell, who, learning that he had absolutely no relatives,
so far as he knew, assumed charge of the boy, and started to bring him
East with him.
Wiley, for years a world-rover, had decided to visit his old home in
Maine, and had joined Frank on his eastward journey. On reaching Kansas
City, Frank had been called to St. Joseph on business, and had left the
boy in charge of the sailor; and to explain their presence on the
Fardale train, and the events which followed, it will be necessary to
follow them from the West.
As soon as Frank left, Wiley at once set out to show his young friend
the sights, and they finally drifted into one of the best restaurants in
Kansas City, where Wiley proceeded to order a lavish meal. When the food
was set before them the sailor, in his breezy and characteristic manner,
summoned the waiter.
“What!” he exclaimed, gazing suspiciously at the meal; “is this the
smell of cheese I hear? Waiter, where are those humming birds’ tongues
on toast? Don’t be reluctant about spreading before me a copious display
of the culinary art. I have a delicate appetite, and when I eat I eat
like a prince. This bill of fare seems crude, and limited, and
unfinished. The list upon it might suit ordinary mortals, but what I
yearn for are a few pickled eels’ feet.”
“I am afraid, sir, we cannot satisfy you!” returned the waiter
haughtily. “Unless you can discover what suits your taste upon our bill
of fare, you will have to go elsewhere.”
“Look here, William,” cried the sailor, “don’t look at me in that tone
of voice. I don’t approve of it. You should be obsequious and attentive
to one of my lofty station and high caste, for I am liable to press into
your palm, as a small token, a gold doubloon, when I depart. It pays,
William, to bow and scrape a little to me. I like it. Now here is my
friend Abe—gaze at him, Sir William. You may not be aware of it, but Abe
is a genius. He is the musical wonder of the century. Behold at his side
his wonderful violin, from which he draws the most excruciating
melodies. When he greases his bow and lets it slide over the quivering
strings, the sounds which emanate from that instrument are sufficient to
appal every one with admiration. You will observe that Abe is delicate.
I couldn’t think of offending him by ordering a common sole-leather
steak for him to masticate. The soul of a genius cannot survive on
steak. It lives mainly on inspiration. Were you ever inspired, William?
My boy, I have, on various occasions, devoured whole quarters of
inspiration at a single sitting. Suppose you bring us a quart of
inspiration? Make it Mumm’s extra dry.”
In spite of his dignity, the waiter could not help smiling at the marine
marvel’s words and eccentric manner.
“Do you wish champagne, sir?” he inquired.
Wiley gently touched his lips with the corner of his napkin.
“Champagne! There is but one fault to find with it; whoever indulges to
his full limit in the sparkling fluid invariably has real pain the
following morning. No, William, on second thought, having with me my
unsophisticated young friend, I will remain on the water wagon. Should I
set a bad example for him, my quivering conscience would smite me a
painful smote. As long as this place cannot provide the little
delicacies I have mentioned, Abe and I will plow into this spread before
us and do our best to calm our ravenous appetites. Stand behind my
chair, William, and endeavor to anticipate my slightest want. When I
depart I will look over my counterfeit money and find a hundred-dollar
bill for you.”
There were a number of persons dining in the restaurant, and Wiley had
attracted considerable attention. One of the guests now rose from his
table and advanced toward the sailor and the boy. As Abe saw this man he
gave a little gasp, and whispered to his companion:
“Look, cap’n—look! There is a man who has been following me about. He is
coming!”
“I behold him advancing,” said the marine marvel, also in a low tone.
“Paragorically speaking, his eyes are gimlets and his nose is an
interrogation point. I think he intends to ask questions.”
The person who approached was a slim man in black, with his coat
buttoned tightly across his breast. He was smooth-shaven, keen-eyed, and
about forty years of age.
“Excuse me,” he said, as he paused at the table. “I believe I have heard
of you before.”
“No doubt of it—no doubt whatever,” instantly retorted Wiley. “I am
notorious from the equator to the Arctic circle. My face is spread
broadcast from Kalamazoo to Hongkong.”
“You are a baseball player?”
“I am; I confess it. I am one of the finest baseball players this great
and glorious country has ever produced. I am lingering here a day or two
before proceeding East to take charge of the New York Nationals. Once or
twice I have suspected that I would never again prance forth upon the
diamond and toy with the leather sphere; but I am unable to restrain my
natural inclination, and the ozone of this gorgeous spring atmosphere
has set the baseball fever throbbing once more in my pulmonary artery.
Are you interested in the great American game, sir?”
“I am what is called a fan,” answered the stranger, with a faint smile.
“I presume that is how it happens that I have heard of you. If I
remember right, you were with Frank Merriwell’s team last season?”
“On one glorious occasion I delivered the goods for that organization. I
presume you read an account of it in the newspapers? The press of the
entire country literally palpitated with it.”
“I saw an account of it somewhere. Who is your young friend?”
The man nodded toward the hunchback.
“Whom?” said Wiley. “Why, he is Master Abe, the wizard violinist. He’s
one of the greatest musicians of modern times. His playing would draw
tears from eyes of stone. You should hear him, sir. He has thrilled the
hearts of thousands. Why, when we were abroad together he played before
the crowned heads of the foreign countries.”
Abe looked surprised.
“Then he has traveled abroad?” questioned the stranger.
“Has he?” cried the sailor. “You may wager your coin without parsimony
upon it. We traveled together through Europe, Oorup, Eerup, slid through
Greece, and knocked the stuffing out of Turkey. His greatest triumph was
when he played before Emperor William, of Germany. The emperor was
spellbound. In his excitement the ends of his mustache became entangled
in his eyebrows, and it required fourteen attendants with currycombs and
brushes to clear them out. At the close of the performance, when the
last throbbing note of music had died away, and Abe had lowered his
violin, the emperor sprang to his feet and shouted:
”_‘Ich liebe dich! Gott in Himmel!_ Frankfurters and harncase! Likewise
pumpernickle!’ Then he fell on Abe’s neck, weeping as if his heart would
break. We were entertained at the royal palace, where we dined in state.
That night I slept in a beautiful bed with rustling silken curtains, and
then—I woke up."
“Why, cap’n!” gasped Abe.
“Hush!” said Wiley, behind his hand. “You may have forgotten it, but I
remember it just as well as I remember our trip abroad.”
“Who is the instructor of this wonderful young musician?” asked the
stranger.
“Instructor?” exclaimed the marine marvel. “Why, such a prodigious
prodigy needs no instructor save his own intuition. Nature has been his
instructor. He has listened to the singing of the brook, the wind, the
trees, the birds, and the grasshoppers. All those palpitating melodies
he has incorporated into his wonderful curriculum of music.”
“What did you say the boy’s name was?” asked the inquisitive stranger.
“It is Abe—Master Abe.”
“But his name in full?”
“His name in full, sir? He has never been full!”
“I mean his complete name.”
“That’s it; that’s the whole of it.”
“But what is his history?”
“My dear inquisitorial friend,” said the sailor, “you are projecting
yourself into our repast and retiring mastication. Speaking about names,
it occurs to me that I have never been introduced to you.”
“I beg your pardon. My name is Nathan Callgaul.”
“Thanks for the information, Mr. Allgaul.”
“Callgaul, Cap’n Wiley—Callgaul!”
“Well, you may call it gaul or anything you choose, but it occurs to me
that your intense curiosity in regard to us is becoming exasperatingly
annoying. You had better retire and permit us to persue the even tenor
eleven of our ways.”
“Oh! very well,” said Nathan Callgaul, shrugging his shoulders. “I have
no desire to annoy you.”
“You can’t gnaw me,” retorted the sailor. “I wouldn’t permit such
familiarity. So long, Mr. Tallgaul. See you later—I don’t think.”
As the stranger retired Wiley fell upon the food with an air of ravenous
greediness.
“Cold!” he muttered. “Cold as Mr. Somegaul’s nerve. William, will you
kindly present the check to the gentleman and explain that he has ruined
this meal and therefore should pay the bill? It will save me the price,
and that will be nice. My! my! there is another poetic accident!”
“Cap’n,” said Abe, who seemed strangely agitated, “somehow I am afraid
of that man. I know he has been watching me. He was on the train when we
came here to this city. I have seen him a number of times since.
Something tells me to look out for him.”
“My boy, you are troubled with the hallucinations of genius. I am quite
sure Mr. Barrel-of-gaul is entirely harmless. He is simply one of those
exasperatingly inquisitive persons who desire to know every one’s
business better than their own. Fly at the hash, Abe, and satisfy the
cravings of the inner man.”
Although he tried to eat, the boy found little satisfaction in it, and
his relief seemed intense when the man in black finally left the
restaurant.
“Is he gone?” said Wiley. “Why, William, you failed to present him with
the check! He has departed without settling, William! That was a
terrible oversight on your part, and I fear you will regret it.”
Having paid the bill, Wiley paused ere leaving and looked the expectant
waiter in the eye.
“William,” he said, “it was my intention to give you a large tip. You
have been very faithful and attentive, William. I have no fault to find
with you on that account; but you are expensive. You permitted Mr.
Too-much-gaul to ruin my repast, and then you failed to present him with
the check. That being the case, I shall deduct the amount of the check
from the tip I contemplated making you, which leaves you exactly
seventy-five cents indebted to me. Do you wish to pay it now, or shall I
let it stand against you?”
The waiter was too astonished to reply, and before he could recover
Wiley had teetered out with Abe at his side.