CHAPTER V
SOME CAUSES OF TROUBLE
It was early of a Saturday afternoon, warm and sultry. Everything in theneighbourhood of the Half Way House seemed inclined to drowsiness. Eventhe stream flowing by at a little distance moved as though its waterswere lazy. The birds and the cattle kept their respective placessilently, in the treetops and beneath the shade. Only the flies, buzzingabout the ears of Colonel Witham's dog that lay stretched in thedooryard, were active.
They buzzed about the fat, florid face of the colonel, presently, as heemerged upon the porch, lighted his after-dinner pipe and seated himselfin a big wooden arm-chair. But the annoyance did not prevent him fromdozing as he smoked, and, finally, from dropping off soundly to sleep.
He enjoyed these after-dinner naps, and the place was conducive to them.The long stretch of highway leading up from Benton had scarcely acountry wagon-wheel turning on it, to stir the dust to motion. In thedistance, the mill droned like a big beehive. Near at hand only the fishmoved in the stream--the fish and a few rowboats that swung gently attheir ropes at the end of a board-walk that led from the hotel to thewater's edge.
The colonel slumbered on. But, far down the road, there arose,presently, a cloud of dust, amid which there shone and glittered flashesof steel. Then a line of bicyclists came into view, five youths, withbacks bent and heads down, making fast time.
On they came with a rush and whirr, the boy in front pointing in towardthe Half Way House. The line of glistening, flying wheels aimed itselffair at Colonel Witham's dog, who roused himself and stood, growlinghoarsely, with ears set back and tail between his legs.
Then the screeching of five shrill whistles smote upon the summerstillness, the wheels came to an abrupt stop, and the five ridersdismounted at a flying leap at the very edge of Colonel Witham's porch.The colonel, startled from sweet repose by the combined noise ofwhistles, buzzing of machines, shouts of the five riders and the yelpingof his frightened dog, awoke with a gasp and a momentary shudder ofalarm. He was enlightened, if not pacified, by a row of grinning faces.
"Why, hello, Colonel Witham," came a chorus of voices. "Looks like oldtimes to see you again. Thought we'd stop off and rest a minute."
Colonel Witham, sitting bolt upright in his chair, and mopping theperspiration from his brow with an enormous red handkerchief, glared atthem with no friendly eyes.
"Oh, you did, hey!" he roared. "Well, why didn't you bring a dynamitebomb and touch that off when you arrived? Lucky for you that dog didn'tgo for you. He'll take a piece out of some of you one of these days."(Colonel Witham did not observe that the dog, at this moment, tailbetween legs, was flattening himself out like a flounder, trying tosqueeze himself underneath the board walk.) "What do you want here,anyway?"
"Some bottled soda, Colonel," said the youngest boy, in a tone thatwould seem to indicate that the colonel was their best friend. "Bottledsoda for the crowd. My treat."
"Bottled monkey-shines and tomfoolery!" muttered Colonel Witham, arisingslowly from his chair. "I wish it would choke that young Joe Warren.Never saw him when he wasn't up to something."
But he went inside with them and served their order; scowling upon themas they drank.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Making a fifty mile run, Colonel," replied one of the boys, whosefeatures indicated that he was an elder brother of the boy who hadpreviously spoken. "Tom and Bob--you remember them--are setting the paceon their tandem for Arthur and Joe and me. Whew, but we came upa-flying. Well, good day, we're off. You may see Tim Reardon by and by.We left him down the road with a busted tire."
They were away, with a shout and a whirl of dust.
"Hm!" growled the colonel. "I'll set the dog on Tim Reardon if he comesup the way they did. Here, Caesar, come here!"
The colonel gave a sharp whistle.
But Caesar, a yellow mongrel of questionable breeds, did not appear. Akeen vision might have seen this canine terror to evildoers poke ashrinking muzzle a little way from beneath the board walk, emit afrightened whine and disappear.
Colonel Witham dozed again, and again slumber overtook him. He did notstir when Grannie Thornton, recovered from her attack of rheumatism,appeared at a window and shook a table-cloth therefrom; nor when BessThornton, dancing out of the doorway, whisked past his chair and seatedherself at the edge of the piazza.
The girl's keen blue eyes perceiving, presently, an object in thedistance looking like a queer combination of boy and bicycle, she ranout from the dooryard as it approached. Tim Reardon, an undersized,sharp-eyed youngster, rather poorly dressed and barefoot, wheeling hismachine laboriously along, was somewhat of a mournful-looking figure.The girl held up a warning hand as he approached.
"Hello," said the boy. "What's the matter?"
The girl pointed at the sleeping colonel.
"Said he'd set the dog on you if you came around the way the othersdid," replied Bess Thornton. "They woke him up. My! wasn't he mad?Here," she added, handing a small box to the boy, "George Warren leftthis for you. Said they wanted to make time. That's why they didn't stopfor you."
"Thanks," said the boy. "Thought I'd got to walk clear back to Benton.But I was going to have a swim first. Guess I'll have it, anyway. It'shot, walking through this dust."
"I'll tell you where to go," said the girl. "Do you know what's fun? Seethat tree way up along shore there, the one that hangs out over thewater? Well, I climb that till it bends down, and then I get to swingingand jump."
Tim Reardon gave her an incredulous glance, with one eye half closed.
"Oh, I don't care whether you believe it or not," said the girl. "ButI'll show you some time. Can't now. Got to wash dishes. Don't wake himup, or you'll catch it."
She disappeared through the doorway, and Tim Reardon, leaving his wheelleaning against a corner of the house, went up along shore. In anotherhalf hour he returned, took from his pocket the box the girl had givento him, got therefrom an awl, a bottle of cement and some thin strips ofrubber, and began mending the punctured tire of the bicycle. The tirewas already somewhat of a patched affair, bearing evidences of formerpunctures and mendings.
"It's Jack's old wheel," he remarked by way of explanation to BessThornton, who had reappeared and was interestedly watching theoperation. "He's going to give me one of his new tires," he added, "thefirst puncture he gets."
"Why don't you put a tack in the road?" asked the girl promptly.
Tim Reardon grinned. "Not for Jack," he said.
"Say," asked the girl, "what's Witham mad with those boys about? Whydid he send 'em out of the hotel the other night?"
"Oh, that's a long story," replied Tim Reardon; "I can't tell you allabout it. Witham used to keep the hotel down to Southport, and he wasalways against the boys, and now and then somebody played a joke on him.Then, when his hotel burned, he thought the boys were to blame; but JackHarvey found the man that set the fire, and so made the colonel lookfoolish in court."
But at this moment a yawn that sounded like a subdued roar indicatedthat Colonel Witham was rousing from his nap. He stretched himself,opened his eyes blankly, and perceived the boy and girl.
"Well," he exclaimed, "you're here, eh? Wonder you didn't come in like awild Indian, too. What's the matter?"
"Got a puncture," said Little Tim.
The colonel, having had the refreshment of his sleep, was in a betterhumour. He was a little interested in the bicycle.
"Queer what new-fangled ideas they get," he said. "That's not much likewhat I used to ride."
Little Tim looked up, surprised.
"Why, did you use to ride a wheel?" he asked.
"Did I!" exclaimed Colonel Witham, reviving old recollections, with atouch of pride in his voice. "Well, now I reckon you wouldn't believe Iused to be the crack velocipede rider in the town I came from, eh?"
Little Tim, regarding the colonel's swelling waist-band and fat, puffycheeks, betrayed his skepticism in looks rather than in speech. ColonelWitham continued.
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bsp; "Yes, sir," said he, "there weren't any of them could beat me in thosedays. Why, I've got four medals now somewhere around, that I won atcounty fairs in races. 'Twasn't any of these wire whirligigs, either,that we used to ride. Old bone-shakers, they were; wooden wheels and asolid wrought iron backbone. You had to have the strength to make thatrun. Guess some of these spindle-legged city chaps wouldn't make much ofa go at that. I've got the old machine out in the shed there, somewhere.Like to see it?"
"I know where it is," said Bess Thornton. "I can ride it."
"You ride it!" exclaimed Colonel Witham, staring at her in amazement."What?"
"Yes," replied the girl; "but only down hill, though. It's too hard topush on the level. I'll go and get it."
"Well, I vum!" exclaimed Colonel Witham, as the girl started for theshed. "That girl beats me."
"Look out, I'm coming," called a childish voice, presently.
The door of the shed was pushed open, and Bess Thornton, standing on astool, could be seen climbing into the saddle of what resembled closelya pair of wagon wheels connected by a curving bar of iron. She steadiedherself for a moment, holding to the side of the doorway; then pushedherself away from it, came down the plank incline, and thence on to thepath leading from the elevation on which the shed stood, at full speed.Her legs, too short for her feet to touch the pedals as they made acomplete revolution, stuck out at an angle; but she guided the wheel androde past Tim Reardon and the colonel, triumphantly. When the wheelstopped, she let it fall and landed on her feet, laughing.
"Here it is, Colonel Witham," said she, rolling it back to where hestood. "Let's see you ride it."
Colonel Witham, grasping one of the handle-bars, eyed the velocipedealmost longingly.
"No," he said. "I'm too old and stout now. Guess my riding days areover. But I used to make it go once, I tell you."
"Go ahead, get on. You can ride it," urged Tim Reardon. "It won'tbreak."
"Oh no, it will hold me, all right," said Colonel Witham. "We didn'thave any busted tires in our day. Good iron rim there that'll last forever."
"Just try it a little way," said Bess Thornton.
"I never saw anybody ride that had won medals," said Tim Reardon.
Colonel Witham's pride was rapidly getting the better of his discretion.
"Oh, I can ride it," he said, "only it's--it's kind of hot to try it.Makes me feel sort of like a boy, though, to get hold of the thing."
The colonel lifted a fat leg over the backbone and put a ponderous footon one pedal, while the drops of perspiration began to stand out on hisforehead.
"Get out of the way," he shouted. "I'll just show you how itgoes--hanged if I don't."
The colonel had actually gotten under way.
Little Tim Reardon doubled up with mirth, and rolled over on the grass.
"Looks just like the elephant at the circus," he cried.
"Sh-h-h, he'll hear you," whispered Bess Thornton.
Colonel Witham was certainly doing himself proud. A new thrill of lifewent through him. He thought of those races and the medals. It was anunfortunate recollection, for it instilled new ambitions within him. Hehad ridden up the road a few rods, had made a wide turn and startedback; and now, as he neared the hotel once more, his evil geniusinspired him to show the two how nicely he could make a shorter turn.
He did it a little too quickly; the wheel lurched, and Colonel Withamfelt he was falling. He twisted in the saddle, gave another sharp yankupon the handle-bars--and lost control of the wheel. A most unfortunatemoment for such a mishap; for now, as the wheel righted, it swerved toone side and, with increased speed, ran upon the board walk that leddown to the boat-landing.
The walk descended at quite a decided incline to the water's edge. Itwas raised on posts above the level of the ground, so that a fall fromit would mean serious injury. There was naught for the luckless colonelto do but sit, helpless, in the saddle and let the wheel take itscourse.
Helpless, but not silent. Beholding the fate that was inevitable, thecolonel gave utterance to a wild roar of despair, which, together withthe rumbling of the wheels above his head, drove forth his dog from hishiding-place. Caesar, espying this new and extraordinary object rattlingdown the board walk, and mindful of the agonizing shrieks of his master,himself pursued the flying wheel, yelping and barking and adding hisvoice to that of Colonel Witham.
There was no escape. The heavy wheel, bearing its ponderous weight ofmisery, and pursued to the very edge of the float by the dog, plungedoff into the water with a mighty splash. Colonel Witham, clinging indesperation to the handle bars, sank with the wheel in some seven feetof water. Then, amid a whirl and bubbling of the water like a boilingspring, the colonel's head appeared once more above the surface. Chokingand sputtering, he cried for help.
"Help! help!" he roared. "I'm drowning. I can't swim."
"No, but you'll float," bawled Little Tim, who was darting into the shedfor a rope.
Indeed, as the colonel soon discovered, now that he was once more at thesurface, it seemed really impossible for him to sink. He turned on hisback and floated like a whale.
And at this moment, most opportunely, there appeared up the road theline of bicyclists returning.
They were down at the shore shortly--Tom Harris, Bob White, George,Arthur and Joe Warren--just as Little Tim emerged from the shed, with anarmful of rope.
"Here, you catch hold," he said, "while I make fast to the colonel." Thenext moment, he was overboard, swimming alongside Colonel Witham.
"Look out he don't grab you and drown you both," called George Warren.
Little Tim was too much of a fish in the water to be caught that way.The most available part of Colonel Witham to make fast to, as he floatedat length, was his nearest foot. Tim Reardon threw a loop about thatfoot, then the other; and the boys ashore hauled lustily.
The colonel, more than ever resembling a whale--but a live one, inasmuchas he continued to bellow helplessly--came slowly in, and stranded onthe shore. They drew him well in with a final tug.
"Here, quit that," he gurgled. "Want to drag me down the road?" Thecolonel struggled to his feet, his face purple with anger.
"Now get out of here, all of you!" he roared. "There's always troublewhen you're around. Tim Reardon, you keep away from here, do youunderstand?"
"Yes sir," replied Tim Reardon, wringing his own wet clothes; and thenadded, with a twinkle in his eyes, "but ain't you going to show us thosemedals, Colonel Witham?"
It was lucky for Tim Reardon that he was fleet of foot. The colonel madea rush at him, but Tim was off down the road, leaping into the saddleof his mended wheel, followed by the others.
"Don't you want us to raise the velocipede, so you can ride some more?"called young Joe Warren, as he mounted his own wheel.
The colonel's only answer was a wrathful shake of his fist.
"Colonel Witham," said Grannie Thornton, as her employer entered thehotel, a few minutes later, "here's a note for you, from Mr. Ellison.Guess he wants to see you about something."
"Hm!" exclaimed the colonel, opening the note, and dampening it much indoing so, "Jim Ellison, eh? More of his queer business doings, I reckon.He's a smart one, he is," he added musingly, as he waddled away to hisbed-room to change his dripping garments; then, spying his own face inthe mirror: 'What's the matter with you, Daniel Witham? Aren't yousmart, too? In all these dealings, isn't there something to be made?'
Colonel Witham, rearraying his figure in a dry suit of clothing, was tobe seen, a little later, on the road to the mill, walking slowly, andthinking deeply as he went along. He was so engrossed in his reflectionsthat he failed to notice the approach of a carriage until it was closeupon him. He looked up in surprise as a pleasant, gentle voice accostedhim.
"Good afternoon, Colonel Witham," it said.
The speaker was a middle-aged, sweet faced woman--the same that hadappeased the wrath of her husband against Bess Thornton. She leaned outof the carriage now and greeted Colonel Witham with cordiality
.
"Oh, how-dye-do," replied Colonel Witham abruptly, and returning hersmile with a frown. He passed along without further notice of hergreeting, and she started up the horse she had reined in, and droveaway.
Only once did Colonel Witham turn his head and gaze back at thedisappearing carriage. Then he glowered angrily.
"I don't want your smiles and fine words," he muttered. "You were toogood for me once. Just keep your fine words to yourself. I don't want'em now."
Colonel Witham, in no agreeable mood, went on and entered at the officedoor of the mill. A tall, sharp-faced man, seated on a stool at a highdesk, looked up at his entrance. One might see at a glance that here wasa man who looked upon the world with a calculating eye. No fat andgenial miller was James Ellison. No grist that came from his mill waslikely to be ground finer than a business scheme put before him. He eyedColonel Witham sharply.
"Aha, Colonel," he exclaimed, in a slightly sneering tone, "bright andcheery as ever, I see. I thought I'd like to have you drop in andscatter a little sunshine. Sit down. Have a pipe?"
Colonel Witham, accepting the proffered clay and and the essentials forloading it, sat back in a chair, and puffed away solemnly, withoutdeigning to answer the other's bantering.
James Ellison continued figuring at his desk.
"Well," said Colonel Witham after some ten minutes had passed, "Supposeyou didn't get me down here just to smoke. What d'ye want?"
"Oh, I'm coming to that right away," replied Ellison, still writing."You know what I want, I guess." He turned abruptly in his seat, and hiskeen face shaded with anger. He pointed a long lean finger in thedirection of the town of Benton. "You know 'em, Dan Witham," he said,"as well as I do. Though you didn't get skinned as I did. You didn't godown to town, as I did twenty odd years ago, with eight thousanddollars, and come back cleaned out. You didn't invest in mines andthings they said were good as gold, and have 'em turn out rubbish. Youdidn't lose a fortune and have to start all over again. But you know em,eh?"
Colonel Witham nodded assent, and added mentally, "Yes, and I know you,too. Benton don't have the only sharp folks."
"And now," added James Ellison, "when I've got some of it back by hardwork, you know how I keep it from them, and from others, too. Well,here's some more of the papers. The mill and a good part of the farm andsome more land 'round here go to you this time. All right, eh? You getyour pay on commission. Here's the deeds conveying it all to you--forvaluable consideration--valuable consideration, see?"
The miller gave a prodigious wink at his visitor, and laughed.
"You don't mind being thought pretty comfortably fixed, eh--all theseproperties put in your name? Don't do you any harm, and people aroundhere think you're mighty smart. Your deeds from me are all recorded, eh?People look at the record, and what do they see? All this stuff in yourname. Well, what do I get out of that? You know. There are some claimsthey don't bother me with, because they think I'm not so rich as I am.There's property out of their reach, if anything goes wrong with somebusiness I'm in.
"Why? Well, we know why, all right, you and I. Here's the deeds of thesame property which you give back to me. Only I don't have them put onrecord. I keep them hidden--up my sleeve--clear up my sleeve, don't I?"
"You keep 'em hidden all right, I guess," responded Colonel Witham; andmade a mental observation that he'd like to know where the miller reallydid hide them.
"So here they are," continued the miller. "It's a little more of thesame game. The property's all yours--and it isn't. You'll oblige, ofcourse, for the same consideration?"
Colonel Witham nodded assent, and the business was closed.
And, some time later, as Colonel Witham plodded up the road again, heuttered audibly the wish he had formed when he had sat in the miller'soffice.
"I'd like to know where he keeps those deeds hidden," he said,apparently addressing his remark to a clump of weeds that grew by theroadside. The weeds withholding whatever information they may have hadon the question, Colonel Witham snipped their heads off with a vicioussweep of his stick, and went on. "I don't know as it would do me anygood to know," he continued, "but I'd just like to know, all the same."
And James Ellison, his visitor departed, wandered about for some timethrough the rooms of his mill. One might have thought, from the sly andconfidential way in which he drew an eye-lid down now and again, as hepassed here and there, that the wink was directed at the mill itself,and that the crazy old structure was really in its owner's confidence;that perhaps the mill knew where the miller hid his papers.
At all events, James Ellison, sitting down to his supper table thatevening, was in a genial mood.
"Lizzie," he said, smiling across the table at his wife, "I saw an oldbeau of yours to-day--Dan Witham. He didn't send any love to you,though."
"No," responded Mrs. Ellison, and added, somewhat seriously, "and he hasno love for you, either. I hope you don't have much business dealingwith him."
"Ho, he's all right, is Dan Witham," returned her husband. "He's gruff,but he's not such a bad sort. Those old times are all forgotten now."
"I'm not so certain of that, James," said Mrs. Ellison.
The Rival Campers Ashore; or, The Mystery of the Mill Page 5