CHAPTER VII
WAITING FOR TROUBLE
Lem Wacker rolled over, then sat up, rubbed his head in a half-dazedmanner, and muttered in a silly, sheepish way.
"Lem Wacker," said Bart, "I have got just a few words to say to you, andthat ends matters between us. I am sorry I had to strike you, but I willhave no man interfering with the express company's affairs. I want youto go away, and if you ever come in here again except on businessstrictly there will be trouble."
Lem did not put up much of a belligerent front, though he tried still tolook ugly and dangerous.
He got his balance at last, and extended his finger at our hero.
"Bart Stirling," he maundered, "you've made an enemy for life. Look outfor me! You're a marked man after this."
"What am I marked with," inquired Bart quickly--"burnt cork?"
"Hey! What?" blurted out Lem, and Bart saw that the shot had struck thetarget. Wacker looked sickly, and muttered something to himself. Then hetook himself off.
Bart's worries were pleasantly broken in upon by the arrival of hissister Bertha. She brought him a generous lunch, the first food Bart hadtasted that day, and his appetite welcomed it in a wholesome way.
He put in the time planning what he would do if he was lucky enough tobe retained in his father's position, and what he might do in casesomeone else was appointed.
At half-past two Bart loaded the two ice cream freezers on the cart andstarted for the picnic grounds.
Juvenile Pleasantville had somewhat subsided for a time in the fervor ofits patriotism. There was a lull in the popping and banging, nearlyeverybody in town being due at the time-honored celebration in thepicnic grove.
When Bart reached the grove, someone was making an address, and hepiloted his way circumspectly up to the side of the platform where thespeaking was going on.
He deposited the freezers inside the bunting-decorated inclosure, wherehalf a dozen young ladies were posted to dispense the refreshments afterthe literary programme was finished.
Bart started to return with his empty cart the way he had come, butabout ten feet from the platform paused for a moment to take in theexceptionally flowery sentiment that was being enunciated by the speakerof the day.
Colonel Harrington, it seemed, was the self-appointed hero of theoccasion. The great man of the village was in his element--the eyes andears of all Pleasantville fixed upon him.
In rolling tones and with magnificent gestures he was paying a loftytribute to the immortal Stars and Stripes waving just over his head,when, his eyes lowering, they focused straight in a fixed stare on Bart.
The colonel gave the young express agent an awful look, and in aninstant Bart knew that the military man had been informed of theidentity of the audacious cannoneer of the evening previous.
Like some orators, the colonel, once disturbed by an extraneouscontemplation, lost his voice, cue and self-possession all in a second.
It seemed as if he could not take his eyes from the innocent andembarrassed author of his distraction.
He spluttered, the rounded sentence on his lips died down to measlyinsignificance, he stammered, stumbled, and sat down with a red face,his eyes darting rage at poor Bart.
Some of the boys in the crowd "caught on" to the situation, and giggledand made significant remarks, but the chairman on the platform coveredthe colonel's confusion by announcing the national anthem, and Barteffected his escape.
"He'll never forgive me, now," decided Bart. "The damage to the statuewas bad enough, but breaking him up as my appearance did just now is thelimit. I hope Mr. Leslie doesn't hear of my unfortunate escapade, and Ihope the colonel doesn't undertake to hurt my chances. He's anirrational firebrand when he takes a dislike to anybody, and Mrs.Harrington is worse."
Bart had a foundation for this double criticism. The colonel was apompous, self-important individual, intensely selfish and domineering,and his wife a thoughtless devotee of fashion and society.
Mrs. Stirling did some very fine fancy work, and a few months previousto the opening of this tale the magnate's wife had asked as a favorthat she embroider some handkerchiefs as a wedding present for arelative.
She never visited the Stirling house but she left some sting or sneer ofaffected superiority behind her, and when the work was done took ithome, and the next day sent a note complaining that the handkerchiefswere spoiled, inclosing about one-fifth the usual compensation for suchlabor. But she did not return the handkerchiefs.
Mrs. Stirling later learned that their recipient had expressed herselfperfectly delighted with the delicate, beautiful gift, but, being a truelady, Bart's mother said nothing about the matter to those who wouldhave been glad to spread a little gossip unfavorable to the dowdysociety queen of Pleasantville.
The village hardware store was open for the sale of powder, and Bartstopped there on his way back to the express office and purchased apadlock, two keys fitting it, and some stout staples and a hasp. Hecarried these articles into the office when he reached it.
The thoughts of his father's plight, a haunting dread that ColonelHarrington might make him some trouble, and the uncertainty of continuedwork in the express service, all combined to depress his mind withanxiety and suspense, and he tried to dismiss the themes by whistling aquiet, soothing tune as he started to get the hammer to put the padlockin place.
The minute he opened the door, however, the whistle was instantlychecked, and a quick glance at the impromptu desk told Bart that theplace had welcomed a visitor since he had left it.
On a sheet of blank paper was scrawled the words: "Express safe waslocked last night--contents all right."
And beside it was a heap of account books--the entire records of theoffice, which Bart had supposed were destroyed in the fire at the oldexpress shed the evening previous.
Bart Stirling's Road to Success; Or, The Young Express Agent Page 7