Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  Jarrod sat down at one of the tables, feeling homeless and despondent. He had eaten a dreadful breakfast in Kochton, an hour before, and it hadn’t agreed with him. Through the open door of the bazaar he beheld Mrs. Wilder talking earnestly with his wife. She had given his little girl a large and expensive doll to hold and his little boy a full-rigged toy sailboat to play with.

  “Ah!” cried Wilder, slapping the table with emphasis; “I have it! You are saved, dear boy — and not only saved but highly favored by fortune. How lucky I happend to think of it!”

  “What is it?” asked Jarrod, with reviving interest.

  “Why, I’ve got Lake View for sale, the prettiest and finest cottage in the whole Park. You shall have it, dear boy — you shall have it for a song.”

  “But I don’t want to buy a cottage,” protested Jarrod. “I’ve not even seen Tamawaca yet, and I don’t know as I’ll like it.”

  “Not like it! Not like Tamawaca!” Wilder’s voice was sad and reproachful. “My dear boy, everybody likes Tamawaca. You can’t help liking it. Come, I’ll show you the charms of our little heaven upon earth, and at the same time you shall examine lovely ‘Lake View.’”

  During this conversation a little group of people had been gathering a few paces behind Wilder, all with anxious faces but a diffidence about interrupting him. Wilder noted this group and excused himself from Jarrod for a moment.

  “Yes, Mrs. Jones,” he said, in his earnest, winning tones, “give me your baggage checks and I’ll have the trunks up to your cottage in a jiffy. Certainly, Miss Vanderslop, I’ll be glad to telephone for you — no trouble at all! Here, William,” to his clerk in the grocery, “cash this check for Mr. Chambers. What’s that, Mrs. Harringford? the bread sour? Too bad, dear girl, too bad! But accidents will sometimes happen. William, give Mrs. Harringford her money back; the bread’s sour. What is it, Mr. Harden? Gasoline stove won’t work? I’ll have a man up to fix it in half an hour; don’t worry, dear boy; half an hour at the latest. Good morning, Mrs. Still! here are the keys to your cottage. I’ve had the women clean it and put it in order and it’s all ready for you to walk into and sit down. No trouble at all — no thanks — glad to be of use to you. What is it, my little man? a note from mamma? Ah, yes; tell her it will give me great delight to reserve a berth for her on tomorrow night’s boat. And now, Mr. Jarrod, I’m at your service.”

  “You seem to be a busy man,” said Jarrod, with a smile.

  “Usually I am,” replied Wilder, mopping his forehead; “but there’s not much doing this morning; it’s too early in the season; I’m resting up for the busy days coming. Let us walk over to the Lake front, and I’ll astonish you with the beauty of our fairyland.”

  So Jarrod, leaving his family to be entertained by Mrs. Wilder, who seemed an eminently fitting spouse for her cheery husband, followed this modern Poo-Bah along a broad cement walk that led past the hotel and through a shady grove. There were cottages on every side, clustered all too thickly to be very enticing, but neatly built and pleasant enough for a summer’s outing. A few paces more brought them to a magnificent view of the great inland sea, and soon they emerged upon a broad beach lapped by the rolling waves of grand old Michigan.

  Jarrod’s eyes sparkled. It was beautiful at this point, he was forced to admit, and the cool breath of the breeze that swept over the waters sent an exhilarating vigor to the bottom of his lungs and brought a sudden glow to his cheek.

  Along the lake front was another row of pretty cottages, running north and south for a distance of half a mile or more. At frequent intervals an avenue led from the beach back into the splendid forest, where, Wilder explained, were many more cottages hidden among the trees.

  “Some people prefer to live in the forest,” said he, “while others like to be nearer the water. The cottage you have just bought is near the big lake, and finely located.”

  “I didn’t know I had purchased it, as yet,” remarked Jarrod, drily.

  “I forgot,” said Wilder, laughing. “There are a good many things for me to think of, you know, and sometimes I get ‘em mixed.”

  “I see.”

  “Here,” continued the guide, as they went south along the wide beach walk, “is the residence of the Father of Tamawaca, my dear partner Mr. Easton. A fine man, sir, but erring in judgment now and then.” He stumbled on a loose, worn out plank, and came to a halt. “This walk, dear boy, ought to be repaired. I’ve talked to Easton about it more than once, but he says he’s too poor to squander money on public improvements. It’s his idea that the cottagers should repair the walks.”

  “Isn’t this in front of his own residence?” asked Jarrod.

  “Y-e-e-e-s; seems to be. But Easton says, and with justice, that all the people living above here are obliged to use this walk to get down town — where the store and post-office are located — and so they ought to see that it’s kept in proper condition.”

  “Who owns the street?” enquired Jarrod.

  “Why, we own it, of course — Easton and I. You see, this whole place was once a farm and some men bought it and laid out and platted Tamawaca Park. They incorporated under the laws of Michigan as a summer resort company, and so they kept the control of all the streets and public grounds in their own hands. It’s a private settlement, you understand, and when a man buys one of our lots he acquires the right to walk over our streets as much as he likes — as long as he behaves himself.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “If he doesn’t we can order him off.”

  “Was the original plat recorded?” asked Jarrod.

  “Yes; of course.”

  “With the streets and public grounds laid out in detail?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then,” said the lawyer, “the first man that bought a lot here acquired a title to all your public streets and grounds, and you lost the control of them forever.”

  “Nonsense!” cried Wilder.

  “I’ve read law a bit,” said Jarrod, “and I know.”

  “Michigan law is different, dear boy,” announced Wilder, composedly. “Still we mean to do what’s right, and to treat every cottage owner fair and square — as long as he does what we tell him to.”

  Jarrod’s face was beaming. He had not been so highly amused for months — not since the Crosbys had sold out. He hadn’t seen Lake View Cottage as yet, but already he had decided to buy it. A condition that would have induced an ordinary man to turn tail and avoid Tamawaca was an irresistible charm to this legal pugilist. But his cue was now to be silent and let Wilder talk.

  “Here, dear boy,” that seraphic individual was explaining, “is where Noggs lives, the wealthy merchant prince of Grand Rapids. And here’s the cottage of our distinguished author. Don’t have to work, you know. Just writes books and people buy ‘em. Snap, ain’t it?”

  “Looks that way,” said Jarrod. “What’s that cottage standing in the middle of yonder avenue?”

  “Oh, that belongs to old man Easton.”

  “Why is it there?”

  “Why, lake front lots are scarce, you know; but cottages on the lake front rent for good money. So Easton built one in the street, and rents it at a high figure. Clever scheme, ain’t it?”

  “Didn’t the cottage owners object?”

  “It was built in the winter, when no one was here. When the resorters came in the spring and saw it, they wailed an’ tore their hair. But it was too late, then. While they swore, Easton prayed for ‘em; he’s religious. The old saint’s got lots o’ cottages on public grounds, but no one can make him tear ‘em down because we control the public grounds ourselves. Whatever’s public here belongs to me an’ Easton. Understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Here’s where the big stock-yards man from Chicago lives. Pretty place, eh? And here’s the cottage of George B. Still, the magnate of Quincy.”

  “I’ve met him.”

  “Fine fellow, and so’s his wife. One of the largest grocery bills, sir, at the P
ark! Ah, here we come to the cottage of the famous philanthropist from Chicago Commons — Professor Graylor. Used to be a rich man, but spent everything he had to convert the heathen dagos of the Windy City. Now all he’s got left is this cottage and a clear conscience — poor man!”

  “Why do you say ‘poor man’?”

  “Because, dear boy, a clear conscience ain’t an available asset. I’ve got one myself, and I know,” said Wilder, plaintively. “But here we are at Maple Walk — one of the most picturesque avenues in town. Please climb these few steps; it is on this walk your charming cottage stands.”

  “Mine?”

  “To be sure. No man of judgment, dear boy, would refuse to buy it, and I can see you ‘re a good bit wiser than the average resorter. I’m so glad you came!”

  “Thank you.”

  “You ‘re just the sort of man we need, Mr. Jarrod — the sort we’re always lookin’ for.”

  “To walk on your streets and repair your sidewalks?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And patronize your mercantile establishments?”

  Wilder laughed heartily.

  “Why not?” he asked, laying a familiar and caressing hand on the other’s shoulder. “You’ve got to live; an’ poor Wilder’s got to live.”

  “Poor Wilder can’t help living, it seems to me,” returned Jarrod, reflectively. “All these people are forced to trade with you, because there’s no one else to patronize. You’ve established a monopoly here.”

  “It ain’t that,” said Wilder, becoming serious. “I don’t want to monopolize anything, I’m sure. All I want is for people to come here and have a good time, and I can’t trust anyone but myself to give ‘em the right service and the right goods at the right prices. That’s why I run everything myself — and lose money year after year a-doin’ it.”

  “How can you lose money?”

  “Why, on the folks that don’t come here. If Tamawaca was double the size, I’d make double the money, wouldn’t I? But it’s a small place, you see, and no man’s so energetic that he can get more than there is. So I work every season just to accommodate the people. When you’ve been here a little while you’ll find that out. I’ll cash your checks, lend you money, run your errands, settle your quarrels with your wife, reconcile your hired girl to sleeping in the basement and play blind-man’s-buff with your children. That’s Wilder — everybody’s friend but his own, and too honest for his own good.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Wilder,” said Jarrod, “I can see already that you are a remarkable man. What could Tamawaca do without you?”

  “That’s it! Why, dear boy, it would bust higher than Guilderoy’s kite! That’s why I take such good care of my health. But here we are at Lake View. Behold your future home!”

  Jarrod liked the place. It was high enough to command an outlook upon the lake and to catch every breeze, yet not too high for an ordinary climb.

  “What’s the price?” he asked.

  “Just step inside and see the rooms. It’s magnificently furnished.”

  “What do you ask for the place?”

  “There’s a fine pump in the back yard and a sideboard in the dining room.”

  “How much?”

  “It was painted only this spring and everything’s in apple-pie order. Just step inside.”

  Jarrod sat down on the steps.

  “I’ll give you a thousand dollars for it,” he said.

  “My dear boy, the lot alone’s worth fifteen hundred.”

  “Is the cottage on the lot?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “It don’t look it.”

  “Never mind that. I’ll sell you the lot and the cottage. If the house isn’t on the lot it’s somewhere in the neighborhood, and no one’s going to ask any questions.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they daren’t. They’re all in the same boat. There hasn’t been a surveyor allowed in Tamawaca for ages. When a man wants to build, he buys a lot of me an’ Easton an’ then hunts for the lot. If he thinks he’s found it, he’s lucky. If there don’t appear to be a lot where he thinks it ought to be, he just builds his cottage and takes the chances.”

  “All right,” said Jarrod. “I’ll take my chances. How much for Lake View?”

  “Well, dear boy, I’ve taken a liking to you, and so I’m willing to sacrifice. I’ll pay good money to get you here as a resident. But it’s a dreadful shame to think how property’s advanced here lately. I’ve tried to keep it down, but I can’t. Here’s a case, though, where I can forget high prices and be generous. You can have Lake View for four thousand dollars.”

  “What!”

  “And I’ll trust to luck to keep Nora and me out o’ the poor-house.”

  Jarrod reflected.

  “I’ll give you two thousand,” he said.

  “Then it’s yours. Do you want to go in and look around, or shall we walk back and get your wife and children, so they can begin to enjoy their new home?”

  “We’ll go back,” said Jarrod, wondering to what extent he had been bled. “I’ll have plenty of chances to see the inside of my cottage later.”

  “True. And while we’re down at the store we’ll make out the list for groceries and meats and gasoline and such things, and I’ll send ‘em up in fifteen minutes.”

  Mrs. Jarrod was glad to see her husband again, although in his absence Mrs. Wilder had thoroughly posted her in regard to everyone of note at Tamawaca. She was rather astonished at the rapidity with which they had acquired citizenship, but went to William at once to order her groceries and supplies, while Jarrod drew his check to pay for Lake View and then settled with Mrs. Wilder for the doll and the sail-boat — one of which had been broken while the other his dear child refused to part with without a scene.

  Two hours later they had taken possession of their cottage, unpacked their trunks and settled themselves for the summer. The children had taken off their shoes and stockings and run down to the lake to paddle around at the water’s edge, where it was perfectly safe; Mrs. Jarrod was instructing a maid that Wilder had promptly secured and sent to her, while Jarrod himself — collarless and in his shirtsleeves — had drawn an easy chair out upon the porch and set himself down to think.

  On a tree facing him was a sign that read: “Ask Wilder.” These signs he had noticed everywhere at Tamawaca, and as he stared at this one he smiled grimly.

  “There’s no need asking Wilder,” he murmured. “Let him alone for a time and he’ll tell you everything — even more than he imagines he does. But I’m glad I came. Wilder’s a genius, and his nerve is a challenge to all the world!”

  CHAPTER IV.

  JUST GIRLS.

  She was rather pretty, judged by the ordinary standards. The other girls called her “the heiress,” because she so frankly confided to them the information that her uncle — an enormously wealthy man — had no one to inherit his millions but herself, and so had made his will in her favor. Meantime, while he continued to live, this estimable old gentleman gave his niece “just anything I want, girls! He just begs me to spend all the money I can, and is sorry I don’t spend more.”

  Such opulence was not observable in the appearance of the young lady, nor did it lead her to reckless extravagances. She bought about as many icecream sodas as the other girls who were shy of rich uncles, and dressed equally as well as the majority of the young women at Tamawaca, but no better. She had no jewel cabinet, or automobile, or pug dog or embroidered underwear; so her chums and comrades, who only knew her at this summer resort, were wicked enough to rally her upon her vast wealth and slyly insinuate “they were from Missouri” by dubbing her “the heiress.”

  Clara accepted the title with much content. She felt she was entitled to the distinction and held her chin a bit higher when she passed common folks on the street.

  This afternoon, however, she was not on dress parade. Dressed in her bathing uniform she reclined upon the sands in company with several companions likewise attired and listene
d eagerly to the comments of two young ladies who had made an important discovery.

  “He came this morning, girls,” said Betty Lowden, impressively, “and he’s just the cutest thing that ever came off from the boat. Such eyes, my dears! — and such lovely fluffy hair — ”

  “And the air of a real gentleman, girls,” broke in Mary Newton; “you couldn’t mistake him anywhere; and before we passed him he looked at me twice!”

  “No dear, once at the weather signal and once at you,” corrected Betty. “I noticed especially, for afterward he stared at me a whole minute.”

  “Why, you mean, disagreeable — ”

  “Seems to me,” remarked little Susie, quietly, “that it’s a bit of good luck to have any sort of a young man drop down upon us so early in the season. I’m told they’re scarce enough at any time in Tamawaca, so I didn’t expect to meet a real Charles Augustus for a whole month yet.”

  “His name is James — James Ingram. Mary and I ran to look at the hotel register, and he’s the only man that arrived today.”

  “And you haven’t met him yet, either,” suggested Mary, with an exasperating air of proprietorship.

  “No?” said Susie, demurely, as she dipped her hands into the sands and let the shining grains run through her fingers. “But,” glancing dreamily over the heads of the others, “I expect to meet him — within the next half hour.”

  “Oh, Susie!”

  “How absurd!”

  “I’ll bet you the sundaes for the crowd, Betty, that I’ll be able to introduce him to all of you in half an hour from this second.”

  “And you’ve never met him before?” suspiciously.

  “Never.”

  “You must be crazy,” said the heiress, scornfully.

  “Don’t turn around quickly — take your time, Mary. But just let me know if that’s James,” continued the girl, in a soft voice.

  They gave a jump, then, and every one of them stared ruthlessly. They saw a tall young man come down the walk at a swinging stride, glance hungrily at the sparkling waves, and then enter “Wilder’s Bathing Establishment,” which stood near by, at the water’s edge.