Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “It saved our half interest, at least,” she said, evasively. “Has he been here to-day, Steve?”

  “Haven’t seen even his shadow,” was the reply. “I don’t imagine he’ll bother us much, although he has reserved the right to look around all he wants to. He must be a busy man, with all his wealth.”

  The next morning, however, after Orissa had gone to her work, Mr. Cumberford’s car spun up the lane and he came into the hangar, nodded to Steve and sat down quietly on the bench.

  For a time he silently watched the young man shave a cypress rib into shape; then got up and carefully examined the motor, which was in good order. Steve knew, when first Mr. Cumberford began asking questions, that he understood machinery, and the man was quick to perceive the value of young Kane’s improvements.

  “It interests me,” he drawled, after starting the engines and watching them work. “As a boy I longed to be a mechanic. Got sidetracked, though, and became a speculator. Needs almost as much ingenuity to succeed in that as in mechanics. Pays better, but ruins one’s self-respect. Stick to mechanics, Kane.”

  “I will,” promised Steve, laughing.

  “This new profession,” continued Cumberford, “will throw you in with a lot of ‘queer’ people — same sort that used to follow the races and now bet on automobile contests. Keep your sister away from them.”

  “I’ll try to,” returned Steve, more soberly. “But Orissa is crazy over aviation, and she’ll have to go everywhere that I do.”

  “That’s all right; I like the idea. But don’t introduce her to every fellow you are forced to associate with. Girls are queer, and your sister is — beautiful. I’ve a daughter myself.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Steve, not knowing just how to take this remark.

  “My daughter is not — beautiful. No. And she’s a demon. I’ll bring her here to see you and your sister, some day.”

  “Thank you,” said Steve, turning red. Certainly this new acquaintance was odd and unaccountable in some ways. Steve wondered why he should bring a “demon” to the hangar, and why he described his own daughter in such uncomplimentary language.

  Mr. Cumberford smoked a cigarette thoughtfully.

  “Your sister,” he said, “interests me. She’s a good girl. Must have a good mother.”

  “The best in the world,” asserted Steve, proudly. “My daughter,” resumed Cumberford, “takes after her mother. Girls usually do. Her mother was — well, she was Burthon’s sister. Catch the idea? It was all my fault, and Sybil — that’s my daughter — blames me for her parentage. With apparent justice. Not a joke, Kane. Don’t laugh.”

  “I’m not laughing, sir.”

  “Speaking of Burthon reminds me of something. I don’t like the idea of your sister working there — in his office.”

  “He has always treated her very nicely, I believe,” said Steve, “and Orissa feels she must earn some money.”

  “Not necessary. You’ve a fortune in your airship. Take the girl away from Burthon. Keep her at home.”

  Steve did not reply to this, but he decided it was not a bad suggestion.

  “How old is she?” inquired Cumberford, presently.

  “Just seventeen.”

  “Too young to work in an office. Finished her education?”

  “All we are able to give her, sir.”

  “H-m-m. Take my advice. Burthon’s unreliable. I know him. Gorilla inside, man outside. I — I married a Burthon.”

  These brief sentences were spoken between puffs of his cigarette. Sometimes there would be a very definite pause between them, while the man smoked and reflected upon his subject. Steve continued his work and answered when required to do so.

  Cumberford stayed at the hangar until nearly noon, watching the boy work, bearing a hand now and then when a plane rib was awkward to handle alone, always interested in everything pertaining to the aeroplane. He made Steve explain the changes he proposed to apply to the lateral balance and offered one or two rather clever suggestions, showing his grasp of the subject. But he did not refer to Orissa again and finally slipped away without saying good-bye.

  Steve thought him queerer than during their first interview, but liked him better.

  CHAPTER XI

  ORISSA RESIGNS

  Meantime Orissa was having a hard time at the office endeavoring to avoid a personal conversation with Mr. Burthon. When he came in at nine o’clock he smiled upon her and asked:

  “Anything to tell me, Miss Kane?”

  She shook her head, flushing a little, and he went to his desk without another word. He seemed abstracted and moody during the forenoon — a return of his old puzzling manner — and Orissa regretted she had not been brave enough to tell him of their decision to reject his offer when he gave her the opportunity.

  Nothing more passed between them until after luncheon, but when she reentered the office Mr. Burthon, who had not gone out, suddenly roused himself and said:

  “Come here, please, Miss Kane.”

  She obeyed, meekly seating herself in the chair beside his desk.

  The man looked at her a long time; not impudently, with direct gaze, but rather speculatively and with an expression that seemed to penetrate far beyond her and to consider many things beside her fair face. Finally he asked:

  “What conclusion have you reached in regard to your financial matters, of which we spoke Saturday?”

  “I’ve talked with my brother, sir, and he dislikes to give up a half interest in his invention.”

  “Did you tell him I would furnish all the money that might be required?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And he refused?”

  “This aeroplane is very dear to my brother, Mr. Burthon. He cannot bear to transfer a part ownership to another, who would have the right to dictate its future.”

  “Pshaw!” exclaimed the broker, impatiently; “the boy’s a fool. There’s scarcely an inventor in the world who hasn’t had to sacrifice an interest in his creation in order to raise money.”

  “Stephen won’t do it,” declared Orissa, positively, for she resented the speech.

  Mr. Burthon fell silent, drumming on the desk with his fingers, as he always did when in deep thought. Orissa started to rise, thinking the interview closed.

  “Wait a moment, please,” he said. “How old are you, Miss Kane? — your name is Orissa, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. I am seventeen.”

  “So young! Why, you ought to be in school instead of at work.”

  She made no reply. He watched her awhile, as she sat before him with bent head, and then continued, in the kindly tone he so often used when addressing her:

  “Miss Kane — Orissa — I will give your brother all the money he needs, and he may retain the entire interest in his airship. The payment may come from you alone.”

  She started and became alert at once, raising her head to look at him inquiringly.

  “In other words,” he added, “I’m not especially interested in your brother or his invention; but am greatly interested in you.”

  “Mr. Burthon, I — ”

  “Listen to me, Orissa, and let me explain. I’m a lonely man, for I have never married — or cared to. You are the only member of the fair sex who has ever attracted me except my sister, whom I regarded with warm affection. When she married that scoundrel Cumberford we became separated forever, and in a few years she died. Since then I have thought of nothing but business. I am now thirty-eight years of age, and in my prime. I have amassed a fortune — something more than a quarter of a million, as you know — and have no one to leave it to when I pass away. I should like to leave it to you, Orissa.”

  “To me, sir!” she exclaimed, amazed.

  “Yes. Your presence here in the office has transformed the place from a barren den to a cozy, homelike apartment. I like to see your sweet face near me, gravely bending over your work. Your personality has charmed me; your lack of affectation, your sincerity and honesty, have won my admiration. I ca
nnot say to you, as a younger man would, that I love you, for I will not take an unfair advantage of one who is as yet a child. But you will become a woman soon, and I want to make you a splendid woman — and a happy one. This is my proposition: place yourself in my hands unreservedly, and let me direct your future. I will send you to a famous finishing school in the East and supply you with a liberal allowance. In two years you will return to me, old enough to become my wife.”

  “Oh, Mr. Burthon!”

  “Meantime I’ll finance your brother’s airship proposition until it either fails or finally succeeds.” Orissa was greatly distressed. She felt at the moment like giving way to a flood of tears, for she realized that this absurd, astonishing proposal would deprive her of her position. He saw her agitation and felt intuitively she would not consider his offer. So he said, with grim insistence: “You may answer me with one word, my child; yes or no.”

  “Oh, Mr. Burthon, it is impossible! I have a home, a mother and brother, and — I — I could not think of such a thing.”

  “Not to save those relatives from disaster — from misery — from ruin, perhaps?”

  The implied threat hardened her heart, which had begun to pity the man.

  “Not even to save them from death!” she replied firmly.

  “Am I so distasteful to you, then? Is my money of so little account?”

  With cold dignity Orissa rose from her chair. He saw the look on her face and became a little alarmed.

  “Please forget all I have said,” he added, hastily. “I — I am not myself to-day. You may get the mail ready, Miss Kane, and I will sign the letters before I go.”

  She went to the wardrobe and took down her things. He sat silently watching her as she put them on, a slight frown upon his face. The girl hesitated a moment, then walked straight to his desk and said:

  “Of course I cannot stay here a moment after what you have said. But I think you — you meant to be good to me — in your way. Good-bye, Mr. Burthon.”

  “Good-bye, Miss Kane.”

  His voice was cold and hard. She did not look at him again, but walked out of the office and quietly left the building, so she did not see that the frown had deepened to a scowl, nor hear him mutter: “Both lost — the girl and the aeroplane! But I’ll have them yet, for the Kanes are too simple to oppose me successfully.”

  At three o’clock Orissa surprised Steve by coming into the hangar in her working dress.

  “Why, what’s the matter, Ris?” he demanded. “I’ve left Mr. Burthon,” she said quietly.

  “What’s up?”

  Orissa thought it unwise to tell her brother all that had transpired.

  “He was angry because we refused to give him a half interest in the aircraft,” she explained. “So I simply quit and came home.”

  Steve sat down and stared at her a moment. He had been thinking of Mr. Cumberford’s warning ever since that strange individual had gone away, and Orissa’s “resignation” afforded him distinct relief.

  “I’m glad of it, Ris,” he said, earnestly.

  “There’s no necessity for you to work now, for we have plenty of money to see us through. Besides, I need you here to assist me.”

  “Really, Steve?”

  “It’s a fact. I don’t like to employ outside assistance at this stage of the game; it might be fatal. But you are nearly as well posted on aeroplanes as I am, Orissa, and you’re clever enough to be of real help to me. I don’t need brute strength, you know.”

  “Why, I’m terribly strong!” she said with a gay laugh, baring her round arm and bending her elbow to show how the muscle bunched up. “I can lift as much as you can, Steve, if it is necessary.”

  “It won’t be necessary,” replied her brother, delighted to find how easily she adopted his suggestion. “Just grab the end of that bow and hold it steady while I shave a point to it. That’s it. Don’t you see how awkward it is for me to handle these things alone?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re right, Steve. I’ll stay at home and help you finish the aircraft,” said she.

  CHAPTER XII

  THE SPYING OF TOT TYLER

  Mr. Burthon was like many other men accustomed to modern business methods: he believed there was always an indirect way to accomplish whatever he desired. Also, like many others who have little or no use for such a contrivance, he owned a motor car. His chauffeur was a little, wizen featured man named Totham Tyler, familiarly called “Tot” by his chums, a chauffeur who knew automobiles backward and forward and might have progressed beyond his present station had he not been recognized as so “tricky” that no one had any confidence in him.

  About two weeks after Orissa had left the office Mr. Burthon said to his man one morning:

  “Tyler; would you like to do a little detective work?”

  “Anything to oblige, sir,” answered Totham, pricking up his ears.

  “Have you ever met a fellow around town named Kane?”

  “Steve Kane, sir? Oh, yes. He used to be foreman of Cunningham’s repair shop. Quit there some time ago, I believe. Clever fellow, sir, this Kane.”

  “Yes; he has invented a new sort of aeroplane.” Tyler whistled, reflectively. All motor car people have a penchant for flying. As Mr. Cumberford would have said: it “interests them.”

  “Kane is keeping the matter a secret,” continued Mr. Burthon, “and I’m curious to know what he’s up to. Find out, Tyler, and let me know.”

  “Very good, sir. Where is he working?”

  “At home. He lives out Beverly way. Take a Beverly car and get off at Sandringham avenue. Walk north up the lane to the first bungalow.”

  “Ever been there, sir?”

  “No; but Kane’s sister has described the place to me. When you get there, try to hire out as an assistant, but in any case keep your eyes open and observe everything in sight. I’ll pay you extra for this work, according to the value of the information you obtain.”

  “I understand, sir,” answered Tyler, wrinkling his leathery face into a shrewd smile; “I know how to work a game of that sort, believe me.”

  In pursuance of this mission the little chauffeur came to the Kane residence that very afternoon. As he approached the bungalow he heard the sound of pounding upon metal coming from the canvas covered hangar; otherwise the country lay peacefully sunning itself. An automobile stood in the lane. On the front porch a woman sat knitting, but raised her head at the sound of footsteps. Tyler touched his cap, but there was no response. Looking at her closely he saw the woman was blind, so he passed her stealthily and tiptoed up the narrow path toward the hangar. The top canvas had been drawn back on wires to admit the air, but the entrance was closed by curtains. Tyler listened to the hammering a moment, and summoning his native audacity to his aid boldly parted the curtains and entered.

  “Hello, Kane!” he called; then paused and took in the scene before him at a glance.

  Stephen was at the bench pounding into shape an aluminum propeller-blade; a tall man with a drooping mustache stood near, watching him. A young girl was busily sewing strips of canvas. On its rack lay a huge flying machine — its planes spread, the motors in place, the running gear complete — seemingly almost ready for action.

  But Tyler was not the only one with eyes. Kane paused with uplifted hammer and regarded the intruder with a frown of annoyance; Orissa stared in startled surprise; the tall man’s spectacles glittered maliciously.

  “Burthon’s chauffeur!” he muttered; “I remember him.” Swiftly his long arm shot out, seized Tyler’s shoulder and whirled him around. The square toe of a heavy shoe caught the little man unprepared and sent him flying through the entrance, where he sprawled full length upon the ground.

  In an instant he was up, snarling with rage. The curtains were closed and before them stood his assailant calmly lighting a cigarette.

  “Mr. Cumberford, sir,” gasped Tyler, “you shall smart for this! It’s actionable, sir. It’s — it’s — assault ‘n’ battery; that’s wha
t it is!”

  “Want any more?” asked the man coolly.

  “Not to-day, thank you. This’ll cost you plenty.”

  “Then go back to Burthon and tell him we know his game. You’re trespassing, sir. I could wring your neck — perhaps I will — and the law would uphold me. If you want to escape alive, make tracks.”

  Totham Tyler took the hint. He walked away with as much dignity as he could muster, considering his anatomy had so recently been jarred; but he did not take the car home. Oh, no. There was much more to discover inside that hangar. He would wait until night, and then take his time to explore the place fully.

  With this end in view the chauffeur secreted himself in the outskirts of the orange grove, creeping underneath a tree with thick branches that nearly touched the ground. He could pick ripe fruit from where he lay, and was well content to rest himself until night came.

  An hour later Mr. Cumberford whirled by in his motor car, headed for the city. Tyler shook his fist at his enemy and swore effectively to relieve his feelings. Then he sank into a doze.

  The approaching chug of an engine aroused him. He found it was nearly dark, so he must have slept for some hours. Here was Cumberford, back with his car and speeding up the lane so swiftly that Tot could only see a cage-like affair occupying the rear section of the automobile.

  The chauffeur wondered what this could be, puzzling his brain for a solution of the problem. Even while considering the matter Cumberford passed him again, smoking his eternal cigarette and running the car more deliberately, now, toward the city.

  “All right,” mumbled the chauffeur; “he’s out of the way for the night, anyhow. But he left the cage somewhere. What the blazes could he have had in it?”

  He ate a few more oranges for his supper, smoked his pipe, snoozed again and awoke to find it was nearly midnight.

  “Good!” said he; “now’s my time. I don’t mind a bit of a wait if I get the goods in the end; and here’s where I get ‘em. It takes a pretty good man to outwit Tot Tyler. They’ll agree to that, by’m’by.”