“I’m goin’ to eat with the Hathaways to-night,” she replied. “Their dinner ain’t ready till seven o’clock, so if ye hurry a little I kin wash the dishes afore I go.”
He offered no objection. Indeed, he said nothing at all until he had finished his simple meal. Then, as she cleared the table, he said:
“It might be well, while you are in the society of Mary Louise and Colonel Hathaway, to notice their method of speech and try to imitate it.”
“What’s wrong with my talk?” she demanded. She was annoyed at the suggestion, because she had been earnestly trying to imitate Mary Louise’s speech.
“I will leave you to make the discovery yourself,” he said dryly.
She tossed her dishes into the hot water rather recklessly.
“If I orter talk diff’rent,” said she, “it’s your fault. Ye hain’t give me no schooling ner noth’n’. Ye don’t even say six words a week to me. I’m just your slave, to make yer bed an’ cook yer meals an’ wash yer dishes. Gee! how’d ye s’pose I’d talk? Like a lady?”
“I think,” he quietly responded, “you picked up your slang from your mother, who, however, had some education. The education ruined her for the quiet life here and she plunged into the world to get the excitement she craved. Hasn’t she been sorry for it many times, Ingua?”
“I don’t know much ‘bout Marm, an’ I don’t care whether she’s sorry or not. But I do know I need an eddication. If Mary Louise hadn’t had no eddication she’d ‘a’ been just like me: a bit o’ junk on a scrap-heap, that ain’t no good to itself ner anybody else.”
He mused silently for a while, getting up finally and walking over to the door.
“Your peculiarities of expression,” he then remarked, as if more to himself than to the child, “are those we notice in Sol Jerrems and Joe Brennan and Mary Ann Hopper. They are characteristic, of the rural population, which, having no spur to improve its vocabulary, naturally grows degenerate in speech.”
She glanced at him half defiantly, not sure whether he was “pokin’ fun at her” or not.
“If you mean I talks country talk,” said she, “you’re right. Why shouldn’t I, with no one to tell me better?”
Again he mused. His mood was gentle this evening.
“I realize I have neglected you,” he presently said. “You were thrust upon me like a stray kitten, which one does not want but cannot well reject. Your mother has not supplied me with money for your education, although she has regularly paid for your keep.”
“She has?” cried Ingua, astounded. “Then you’ve swindled her an’ me both, for I pays for more’n my keep in hard work. My keep? For the love o’ Mike, what does my keep amount to? A cent a year?”
He winced a little at her sarcasm but soon collected himself. Strangely enough, he did not appear to be angry with her.
“I’ve neglected you,” he repeated, “but it has been an oversight. I have had so much on my mind that I scarcely realized you were here. I forgot you are Nan’s child and that you — you needed attention.”
Ingua put on her new hat, looking into a cracked mirror.
“Ye might ‘a’ remembered I’m a Cragg, anyhow,” said she, mollified by his tone of self reproach. “An’ ye might ‘a’ remembered as you’re a Cragg. The Craggs orter help each other, ‘cause all the world’s ag’in ‘em.”
He gave her an odd look, in which pride, perplexity and astonishment mingled.
“And you are going into the enemy’s camp to-night?”
“Oh, Mary Louise is all right. She ain’t like them other snippy girls that sometimes comes here to the big houses. She don’t care if I am a Cragg, or if I talks country. I like Mary Louise.”
When she had gone the old man sat in deep thought for a long time. The summer evening cast shadows; twilight fell; darkness gradually shrouded the bare little room. Still he sat in his chair, staring straight ahead into the gloom and thinking.
Then the door opened. Shifting his eyes he discovered a dim shadow in the opening. Whoever it was stood motionless until a low, clear voice asked sharply:
“Anybody home?”
He got up, then, and shuffled to a shelf, where he felt for a kerosene lamp and lighted it.
“Come in, Nan,” he said without turning around, as he stooped over the lamp and adjusted the wick.
The yellow light showed a young woman standing in the doorway, a woman of perhaps thirty-five. She was tall, erect, her features well formed, her eyes bright and searching. Her walking-suit was neat and modish and fitted well her graceful, rounded form. On her arm was a huge basket, which she placed upon a chair as she advanced into the room and closed the door behind her.
“So you’ve come back,” remarked Old Swallowtail, standing before her and regarding her critically.
“A self-evident fact, Dad,” she answered lightly, removing her hat. “Where’s Ingua?”
“At a dinner party across the river.”
“That’s good. Is she well?”
“What do you care, Nan, whether she is well or not?”
“If she’s at a dinner party I needn’t worry. Forgive the foolish question, Dad. Brennan promised to bring my suit case over in the morning. I lugged the basket myself.”
“What’s in the basket?”
“Food. Unless you’ve changed your mode of living the cupboard’s pretty bare, and this is Saturday night. I can sleep on that heartbreaking husk mattress with Ingua, but I’ll be skinned if I eat your salt junk and corn pone. Forewarned is forearmed; I brought my own grub.”
As she spoke she hung her hat and coat on some pegs, turned the lamp a little higher and then, pausing with hands on hips, she looked inquisitively at her father.
“You seem pretty husky, for your age,” she continued, with a hard little laugh.
“You’ve been prospering, Nan.”
“Yes,” sitting in a chair and crossing her legs, “I’ve found my forte at last. For three years, nearly, I’ve been employed by the Secret Service Department at Washington.”
“Ah.”
“I’ve made good. My record as a woman sleuth is excellent. I make more money in a week — when I’m working — than you do in a year. Unless — ” She paused abruptly and gave him a queer look.
“Unless it’s true that you’re coining money in a way that’s not legal.”
He stood motionless before her, reading her face. She returned his scrutiny with interest. Neither resumed the conversation for a time. Finally the old man sank back into his chair.
“A female detective,” said he, a little bitterly, “is still — a female.”
“And likewise a detective. I know more about you, Dad, than you think,” she asserted, in an easy, composed tone that it seemed impossible to disturb. “You need looking after, just at this juncture, and as I’ve been granted a vacation I ran up here to look after you.”
“In what way, Nan?”
“We’ll talk that over later. There isn’t much love lost between us, more’s the pity. You’ve always thought more of your infernal ‘Cause’ than of your daughter. But we’re Craggs, both of us, and it’s the Cragg custom to stand by the family.”
It struck him as curious that Ingua had repeated almost those very words earlier that same evening. He had never taught them the Cragg motto, “Stand Fast,” that he could remember, yet both Nan and her child were loyal to the code. Was he loyal, too? Had he stood by Nan in the past, and Ingua in the present, as a Cragg should do?
His face was a bit haggard as he sat in his chair and faced his frank-spoken daughter, whose clear eyes did not waver before his questioning gaze.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said she; “that I’ve never been much of a daughter to you. Well, neither have you been much of a father to me. Ever since I was born and my unknown mother — lucky soul! — died, you’ve been obsessed by an idea which, lofty and altruistic as you may have considered it, has rendered you self-centered, cold and inconsiderate of your own flesh and blood. Then there’s that
devilish temper of yours to contend with. I couldn’t stand the life here. I wandered away and goodness knows how I managed to live year after year in a struggle with the world, rather than endure your society and the hardships you thrust upon me. You’ve always had money, yet not a cent would you devote to your family. You lived like a dog and wanted me to do the same, and I wouldn’t. Finally I met a good man and married him. He wasn’t rich but he was generous. When he died I was thrown on my own resources again, with a child of my own to look after. Circumstances forced me to leave Ingua with you while I hunted for work. I found it. I’m a detective, well-known and respected in my profession.”
“I’m glad to know you are prosperous,” he said gently, as she paused. He made no excuses. He did not contradict her accusations. He waited to hear her out.
“So,” said Nan, in a careless, offhand tone, “I’ve come here to save you. You’re in trouble.”
“I am not aware of it.”
“Very true. If you were, the danger would be less. I’ve always had to guess at most of your secret life. I knew you were sly and secretive. I didn’t know until now that you’ve been crooked.”
He frowned a little but made no retort.
“It doesn’t surprise me, however,” she continued. “A good many folks are crooked, at times, and the only wonder is that a clever man like you has tripped and allowed himself to fall under suspicion. Suspicion leads to investigation — when it’s followed up — and investigation, in such cases, leads to — jail.”
He gave a low growl that sounded like the cry of an enraged beast, and gripped the arms of his chair fiercely. Then he rose and paced the room with frantic energy. Nan watched him with a half smile on her face. When he had finally mastered his wrath and became more quiet she said:
“Don’t worry, Dad. I said I have come to save you. It will be fun, after working for the Government so long, to work against it. There’s a certain red-headed imp in this neighborhood who is the daughter of our assistant chief, John O’Gorman. Her name is Josie O’Gorman and she’s in training for the same profession of which I’m an ornament. I won’t sneer at her, for she’s clever, in a way, but I’d like to show O’Gorman that Nan Shelley — that’s my name in Washington — is a little more clever than his pet. This Josie O’Gorman is staying with the Hathaway family. She’s been probing your secret life and business enterprises and has unearthed an important clew in which the department is bound to be interested. So she sent a code telegram to O’Gorman, who left it on his desk long enough for me to decipher and read it. I don’t know what the assistant chief will do about it, for I left Washington an hour later and came straight to you. What I do know is that I’m in time to spike Miss Josie’s guns, which will give me a great deal of pleasure. She doesn’t know I’m your daughter, any more than O’Gorman does, so if the girl sees me here she’ll imagine I’m on Government business. But I want to keep out of her way for a time. Do you know the girl, Dad?”
“Yes,” he said.
“She’s rather clever.”
“Yes.”
“I think she’d have nabbed you, presently, if I hadn’t taken hold of the case so promptly myself. With our start, and the exercise of a grain of intelligence, we can baffle any opposition the girl can bring to bear. Do you wish to run away?”
“No,” he growled.
“I’m glad of that. I like the excitement of facing danger boldly. But there’s ample time to talk over details. I see you’ve had your supper, so I’ll just fry myself a beefsteak.”
She opened her basket and began to prepare a meal. Old Swallowtail sat and watched her. Presently he smiled grimly and Nan never noticed the expression. Perhaps, had she done so, she would have demanded an explanation. He rarely smiled, and certainly his daughter’s disclosures were not calculated to excite mirth, or even to amuse.
CHAPTER XXI
A CASE OF NERVES
The “hotel” at the Crossing was not an imposing affair. Indeed, had there not been an “office” in the front room, with a wooden desk in one corner, six chairs and two boxes of sawdust to serve as cuspidors, the building might easily have been mistaken for a private residence. But it stood on the corner opposite the store and had a worn and scarcely legible sign over the front door, calling it a hotel in capital letters.
The Hoppers, who operated the establishment, did an excellent business. On week days the farmers who came to town to trade made it a point to eat one of Silas Hopper’s twenty-five cent dinners, famous for at least five miles around for profusion and good cookery. On Sundays — and sometimes on other days — an automobile party, touring the country, would stop at the hotel for a meal, and Mrs. Hopper was accustomed to have a chicken dinner prepared every Sunday in the hope of attracting a stray tourist. There were two guest rooms upstairs that were religiously reserved in case some patron wished to stay overnight, but these instances were rare unless a drummer missed his train and couldn’t get away from the Crossing until the next day.
The Sunday following the arrival of Ingua’s mother in town proved a dull day with the Hoppers, who had been compelled to eat their chicken dinner themselves in default of customers. The dishes had been washed and Mary Ann, the daughter of the house, was sitting on the front porch in her Sunday gown and a rocking-chair, when an automobile drove up to the door and a dapper little man alighted. He was very elaborately dressed, with silk hat, patent-leather shoes and a cane setting off his Prince Albert coat and lavender striped trousers. Across his white waistcoat was a heavy gold watch-guard with an enormous locket dangling from it; he had a sparkling pin in his checkered neck-scarf that might be set with diamonds but perhaps wasn’t; on his fingers gleamed two or three elaborate rings. He had curly blond hair and a blond moustache and he wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses. Altogether the little man was quite a dandy and radiated prosperity. So, when the driver of the automobile handed out two heavy suit cases and received from the stranger a crisp bill for his services, Mary Ann Hopper realized with exultation that the hotel was to have a guest.
As the car which had brought him rolled away the little man turned, observed Mary Ann, and removing his silt hat bowed low.
“I presume,” said he in precise accents, “that this town is that of Cragg’s Crossing, and that this building is the hotel. Am I correct in the surmise?”
“I’ll call Pa,” said Mary Ann, somewhat embarrassed. Drummers she could greet with unconcern, but this important individual was a man of a different sort. His brilliant personality dazzled her.
Mr. Hopper came out in his shirtsleeves, gave one look at his customer and put on his coat.
“Goin’ to stay, sir?” he asked.
“For a time, if I like the accommodations,” was the reply. “I am in need of perfect quiet. My doctor says I must court tranquility to avoid a nervous breakdown. I do not know your town; I do not know your hotel; I hired a man in the city to drive me until I came to a quiet place. He assured me, on the way, that this is a quiet place.”
“I dunno him,” said Hopper, “but he didn’t put up no bluff. If ye can find a quieter place ner this, outside a graveyard, I’ll board ye fer noth’n’.”
“I thank you for your assurance, sir. Can you show me to the best room you can place at my disposal?”
“Had dinner?”
“I thank you, yes. I am weary from the long ride. I will lie down for an hour. Then I will take my usual walk. When I return I would like an omelet with mushrooms — I suppose you have no truffles? — for my evening meal.”
The landlord grinned and picked up the suit cases.
“We’re jest out o’ truffles an’ we’re out o’ mushrooms,” he said, “but we’re long on eggs an’ ye can have ‘em omeletted or fried or b’iled, as it suits yer fancy. Sophie’s best hold is cookin’ eggs. Sophie’s my wife, ye know, an’ there ain’t no better cook in seven counties, so the drummers say.”
As he spoke he entered the house and led the way up the stairs.
“Thank you; thank you
,” said the stranger. “I am glad your good wife is an experienced cook. Kindly ask her to spare no expense in preparing my meals. I am willing to pay liberally for what I receive.”
“This room, with board,” remarked Hopper, setting down the suit cases in the front corner bedchamber, “will cost you a dollar a day, or five dollars a week — if you eat our reg’lar meals. If ye keep callin’ fer extrys, I’ll hev to charge ye extry.”
“Very reasonable; very reasonable, indeed,” declared the stranger, taking a roll of bills from his pocket. “As I am at present unknown to you, I beg you to accept this five-dollar bill in advance. And now, if you will bring me a pitcher of ice-water, I will take my needed siesta. My nerves, as you may have observed, are at somewhat of a tension to-day.”
“We’re out o’ ice,” remarked the landlord, pocketing the money, “but ye’ll find plenty of good cold water at the pump in the back yard. Anything else, sir?”
“I thank you, no. I am not thirsty. Ice-water is not necessary to my happiness. You will pardon me if I ask to be left alone — with my nerves.”
Hopper went away chuckling. His wife and Mary Ann were both at the foot of the stairs, lying in wait to question him.
“That feller’s as good as a circus,” he asserted, taking off his coat again and lighting his corncob pipe. “He’s got nerves an’ money, an’ he’s come here to git rid of ‘em both.”
“Who is he?” demanded Mrs. Hopper.
“By gum, I fergot to ask him. I got thanked fer ev’rything I did an’ ev’rything I couldn’t do, an’ I’ve got five dollars o’ his money in my jeans as a evidence o’ good faith. The whole performance sort o’ knocked me out.”
“No wonder,” asserted, his wife sympathetically.
“I’ll bet he’s some punkins, though,” declared Mary Ann, “an’ he’ll be a godsend to us after a dull week. Only, remember this, if he kicks on the feed he don’t git no satisfaction out o’ me.”
“I don’t think he’ll kick on anything,” said her father. “He wants eggs for his supper, in a omelet.”
“He couldn’t want anything that’s cheaper to make,” said Mrs. Hopper. “The hens are layin’ fine jus’ now.”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 593