The Lucky Seventh

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER X

  GORDON BEARS A MESSAGE

  Gordon was up at seven the next morning, having had, as he reckoned, agood nine hours and more of sleep. At breakfast he told again the storyof the accident, this time to an interested audience of three. The thirdwas Fudge, who, since almost an hour before, had been hanging aroundwaiting for Gordon's appearance, and who now was seated at table with acup of coffee and one of Mrs. Merrick's graham muffins in front of him.Fudge acknowledged that he had rather skimped his breakfast. Mr. Merrickmildly censured Gordon for accepting Morris Brent's invitation to ride,but it was evident that he was too proud of Gordon's part in the affairto be severe. Fudge was anxious to know what had become of the runaboutand Gordon replied that so far as he knew it was just where they hadleft it.

  "I guess," he said, "it's pretty badly smashed up. I know one wheel hasabout all the spokes out of it, and I think the axle is busted. Still, Idare say it can be mended."

  "B-b-bet you Morris will never run it again, though," said Fudge. "Guessit's a good chance for someone to buy an auto cheap. Wish I could!"

  "Why, William!" murmured Mrs. Merrick. "The idea!"

  "Oh, a fellow doesn't have to run it the way Morris did," replied Fudgeknowingly. "Tim Turner's father has had a car for two years and he'snever had an accident yet."

  "Why don't you see Mr. Brent?" suggested Gordon. "I dare say he will letyou have it for almost nothing."

  Fudge thrust a hand in a pocket and gravely counted the change he drewout. "If he'll let me have it for sixty-three cents I'll take it," hesaid.

  Mr. Merrick pushed back his chair. "If I ever hear of either of youriding in an automobile without permission I'll see that you get whatyou deserve," he said grimly.

  Fudge grinned. "You'd have to catch me first," he said.

  Gordon announced his intention of running over to see Dick and hisfather reminded him that Mr. Brent was going to call. Gordon repliedevasively that he guessed Mr. Brent had changed his mind. He secretlyhoped that he had. But when, after Mr. Merrick's departure for hisoffice, Gordon wheeled his bicycle down the steps he saw Mr. Brentcoming along the street, his ivory-topped walking-stick thumping thepavement briskly. Escape was impossible and so Gordon leaned his wheelagainst the gate post and waited. Fudge melted into the background. Mr.Brent was about the only person Fudge was in awe of.

  "Well, my boy," greeted Mr. Brent, "you got off lucky."

  "Yes, sir. I'm awfully sorry about Morris. How is he?"

  "Better than he deserves," replied Mr. Brent with a snap of his jaws."The doctor tells me it will be six weeks or more before he will be onhis feet again. I suppose he was running the thing like mad, wasn't he?"

  "No, sir, he was going quite slowly. I don't know just how it happened,Mr. Brent. I think there must have been a bad place in the road."

  "Of course it wasn't his fault," said the other dryly. "Well, it was amerciful thing he had you with him, my boy. His mother and I are verygrateful to you, Merrick. You did a very plucky thing."

  "It wasn't anything," muttered Gordon, looking longingly at his wheel.Perhaps Mr. Brent saw that he was more than willing to avoid furtherexpressions of gratitude, for he smiled and said:

  "Well, that's all. I wanted to see you and thank you. And as I told yourfather last night I'm ready and anxious to prove my gratitude to you. Ifthere's anything I can do, Merrick, you call on me."

  "Thank you, sir, but I guess there isn't anything."

  "Perhaps some day there will be. When that time comes don't forget whatI say, Merrick. I wish you'd stop in at the house to-day or to-morrowand see Mrs. Brent. She wants to see you, my boy. And after Morris getswhere he can talk to folks I'd like you to pay him a visit too. Hedoesn't deserve it, but--well, I guess he's in for a long, hard siege ofit."

  "Yes, sir, I will. I--I was going to call to-day and ask after him, butnow that I know how he is----"

  "Better go just the same. My wife is anxious to tell you how she feelsabout it, Merrick. She can do it better than I can, too. Your father athome?"

  "No, sir, he's gone down town."

  "That's where I ought to be. I waited around for the doctor to call. Bythe way, Merrick, there's something you can do for me if you will. Seethis man Stacey and get him to take that automobile away from there. IfI talk to him I'll fly off the handle and tell him what I think of him.I don't care what he does with the thing. He may burn it up or fix it upor anything he likes, but you tell him from me that he will never getanother cent in payment. Will you do that?"

  "Yes, sir, I'll see him right away. I guess the car will be worth quitea good deal after it's fixed up. I mean, sir, I don't think Mr. Staceywill be out much."

  "I don't care if he is," replied Mr. Brent grimly. "Morris tells me hepaid three hundred and fifty dollars and owes about two hundred more. Hewill never get it. You tell him so. If he wants to sue, let him. I wishhe would!" Mr. Brent flicked angrily with his cane at a spray of leavesthat peeked through the fence. "Well, I'll be grateful if you'll attendto that for me, Merrick. Good morning."

  After Mr. Brent had gone Gordon summoned Fudge with a whistle and thatyouth sauntered around from the back yard. "I guess Stacey will be mad,"he commented when Gordon had told him of the commission he had accepted."I'll go along with you. I like a scrap."

  "There isn't going to be any scrap," said Gordon. "I'll just tell himwhat Mr. Brent says and come away."

  "All right. Wait till I get my wheel."

  Mr. Stacey's place of business was on Oak Street, a smart shop with twobig plate-glass windows behind which were displayed shining newautomobiles. The proprietor was a small man under thirty who affectedbrilliant neckties and a jovial smile. But the smile faded when Gordondelivered his message. Mr. Stacey looked angry and ugly.

  "Is that so?" he demanded truculently. "Old Jonathan Brent said that,did he? Well, you tell him I hold Morris' note for two hundred andthirty-five dollars and I mean to collect it. Why, that car's no good tome, son! What would I do with it? It isn't mine, anyway. I sold itfairly and squarely. If he wants me to fetch it in and have it repairedI'll do it and charge him only what it costs, but as to taking it backand calling quits--nothing doing, son. You tell him that, see?"

  "It isn't my affair," replied Gordon calmly. "I've only told you whatMr. Brent asked me to. Why don't you talk to him about it?"

  "Because I haven't any dealings with him. I sold that car to his son. Ifhe wants to talk to me let him come here or call me up on the telephone.It's nothing to me. I've got Morris Brent's note----"

  "It isn't worth anything," piped up Fudge, who found proceedings dull."He isn't old enough to give a note."

  "We'll see whether he's old enough," was the answer. "I'll go to courtwith it if it isn't paid prompt. Get me?"

  "Sure. But Jonathan Brent's a bad man to fight, I guess," said Fudgewith a shake of his head. "I wouldn't want to do it."

  "Maybe you wouldn't." Mr. Stacey had to smile in spite of himself. "ButI would--if I had to. I'm not in this business for my health, son. Youtell Mr. Brent that if he wants me to haul that car in and repair itI'll do it, but I won't take it back."

  "All right," answered Gordon. "Seems to me, though, you could fix it upfor a few dollars and have a perfectly good car."

  "There's no market here for second-hand cars," replied the dealershortly. "Tell you what I will do, though. I'll fix that car up as goodas new as cheap as it can be done and take it on sale. Maybe I'd find abuyer for it."

  "You mean you'll let Morris off on the balance he owes?"

  "No, sir, I don't mean anything of the sort! I mean that he's to paywhat he owes when it comes due. If I can sell the machine he'll get whatit fetches, less my commission of twenty per cent. Understand?"

  "Well, I'll tell Mr. Brent what you say," agreed Gordon. "But I don'tbelieve he will be willing to have it that way."

  "There's no other way he can have it," snarled Mr. Stacey. "He may havea heap of money and own this town, but he don't own me! And he can'tcheat me o
ut of what belongs to me, either! And you can tell him so! Youtell him that if that two-thirty-five isn't paid by the tenth of OctoberI'll sue for it."

  "Think of him suing Mr. Brent!" chuckled Fudge as they went out.

  "I guess he'd have a pretty good case, though," said Gordon. "Of courseMorris _does_ owe that money to him."

  "Pshaw, Morris' note isn't worth a cent."

  "Maybe not; I don't know about that; but he's morally liable, isn't he?"

  "I guess so. Going to tell Mr. Brent now, Gordie?"

  Gordon shook his head. "Not--not right away. I think I'll see Dickfirst. I told him I'd be over last night."

  Fudge chuckled again. "You're scared," he said. "I'd be, too. Tell youwhat, Gordie; tell him over the 'phone, why don't you?"

  "I was thinking of letting you tell him, Fudge."

  "Me! Gee, I wouldn't d-d-do it if he g-g-gave me the car!"

  They found Dick on the porch. "Hail to the Hero!" he declaimed.

  "Shut up!" said Gordon.

  "Modesty is very becoming," pursued Dick. "Hello, Fudge. I'm glad to seeyou in such distinguished society. Sit down, Gordie, and tell me aboutit. First, though, how's Morris getting on? Lanny told me that he waspretty well broken to pieces."

  "He's got a busted leg. Broken in two places. That's all. He wasunconscious when they brought him home, but he's all right that way now.There isn't much to tell. We were coming along that stretch where thewhite fence is and----"

  Gordon went through with it again, Fudge interpolating details whereGordon failed to do full justice to the narrative. Afterward Gordon toldabout his visit to the automobile agent. "I don't know what to do," heended. "I hate to tell Mr. Brent what that fellow said, Dick."

  "I don't see why. It isn't your fault. Besides, Mr. Brent is in thewrong, anyway. It's Morris' duty to pay what he owes. The dealer isn'tsupposed to find out before he makes a sale whether the buyer'srelatives want him to own a car!"

  "That's all very well," grumbled Gordon, "but he will be as mad as aMarch hare. I don't see why he got me to do it for him, anyway."

  "Because you've made a hit with him," laughed Dick. "I believe if youasked for it you could get a yearly pass over the trolley line. Andspeaking of trolleys reminds me that I've got to hustle over to thePoint and get busy with young Mr. Townsend. What time is it?"

  It was almost ten, and Dick seized his crutches and swung himselfhurriedly into the house to reappear a minute later ready for thejourney. Gordon and Fudge walked to the corner with him.

  "How about another game with those fellows, Dick?" asked Gordon. "Areyou going to see Billings to-day?"

  "If you want me to. There's time enough, though, I guess. We've got agame with Lesterville the day after to-morrow, as you perhaps recall."

  "I know, but I was thinking we might get the Pointers to come over andplay us a week from Saturday. You might see what Billings thinks aboutit."

  "All right. If I can find him I'll ask. By the way, he'll have to findsomeone to take Morris' place, won't he? Guess, though, it won't be hardto do. Here comes my car. See you later, fellows."

  Gordon and Fudge mounted their wheels again when the trolley had rolledoff and pedaled leisurely along Sawyer Street.

  "Too bad," observed Fudge, "that Dick hasn't got that automobile,Gordie. It would save him a lot of hard work, wouldn't it? Say, someonemay run off with it if it stays out there on the road much longer. Betyou half of it's gone already!"

  There was no reply from Gordon, who was riding slowly along with hisgaze fixed intently on his handle-bar.

  "You ought to have hidden it behind a tree or something before you cameaway, Gordie."

  "Eh? Hidden what?"

  "The automobile, of course. Say, what did you think I was talking about,anyway?"

  "I guess I didn't hear you," replied Gordon apologetically. "I--I wasthinking."

  "Some day you'll be doing that and get run down by a trolley car,"commented Fudge crushingly. "What were you thinking about?"

  "Nothing much," answered Gordon. "Want to play some tennis?"

  "My racket's busted. I can borrow Lanny's, though. But I guess it's toohot for tennis, isn't it?"

  "Maybe. I suppose, anyway, I'd ought to see Mr. Brent and tell him whatthat fellow said. There's no use putting it off. Will you come with me?"

  "Not to speak of! I'd do most anything for you, Gordie, but not that!"

  "Well, ride down town with me. You needn't go in."

  "That's fair. And I'll try to catch you when he drops you out thewindow. Come on."