Mary Louise

by L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER XIII

  BUB SUCCUMBS TO FORCE

  One day Peter Conant abruptly left his office, came home and packed hisgrip and then hurried down town and caught the five o'clock train forNew York. He was glum and uncommunicative, as usual, merely tellingAunt Hannah that business called him away and he did not know when hewould be back.

  A week later Peter appeared at the family breakfast table, havingarrived on the early morning express, and he seemed in a more graciousmood than usual. Indeed, he was really talkative.

  "I met Will Morrison in New York, Hannah," he said to his wife. "He wasjust sailing for London with his family and will remain abroad allsummer. He wanted us to occupy his mountain place, Hillcrest Lodge,during July and August, and although I told him we couldn't use theplace he insisted on my taking an order on his man to turn the shackover to us."

  "The shack!" cried Aunt Hannah indignantly.

  "Why, Peter, Hillcrest Lodge is a little palace. It is the cosiest,most delightful place I have ever visited. Why shouldn't we accept WillMorrison's proposition to occupy it?"

  "I can't leave my business."

  "You could run up every Friday afternoon, taking the train to Millbankand the stage to Hillcrest, and stay with us till Monday morning."

  He stared at her reflectively.

  "Would you be safe in that out-of-the-way place?" he asked.

  "Of course. Didn't you say Will had a man for caretaker? And only a fewscattered cottages are located near by, so we shall be quite byourselves and wholly unmolested. I mean to go, and take the girls. Thechange will do us all good, so you may as well begin to makearrangements for the trip."

  Peter Conant stared awhile and then resumed his breakfast withoutcomment. Mary Louise thought she saw a smile flicker over his stolidfeatures for a moment, but could not be positive. Aunt Hannah hadspoken in a practical, matter-of-fact way that did not admit ofargument.

  "Let me see," she resumed; "we will plan to leave on Thursday morning,over the branch road, which will get us to Millbank by noon. If youtelegraph the stage-driver to meet us we can reach Hillcrest Lodge bythree o'clock--perhaps earlier--and that will enable us to get settledbefore dark. That is far better than taking the afternoon train. Willyou make the proper arrangements, Peter?"

  "Yes," he briefly replied.

  As he was leaving the house after breakfast he fixed his stare on Ireneand said to her:

  "In New York I ran across a lot of second-hand books at an auctionsale--old novels and romances which you will probably like. I boughtthe lot and shipped them home. If they arrive in time you can take themto Hillcrest and they will keep you reading all summer."

  "Oh, thank you, Uncle Peter!" exclaimed the chair-girl gratefully.

  "Have you any--any--news of Gran'pa Jim?" asked Mary Louise diffidently.

  "No," he said and walked away.

  During the few days that remained before their exodus they were busypreparing for the anticipated vacation. Summer gowns had to be lookedover and such things gathered together as might be useful during theirtwo months' stay at Hillcrest.

  "Of course no one will see us," remarked Aunt Hannah; "it's really thejumping-off place of the world; but Will Morrison has made it as cosyas possible and we three, with just Peter at the week-ends, can amuseone another without getting lonely. Peter will fish in the mountainstreams, of course, and that's the reason he is allowing us to go.We've visited the Morrisons two or three times at the Lodge and Peterhas fished for trout every minute he was there."

  "Who are the Morrisons?" asked Mary Louise.

  "Will Morrison is a rich banker and his wife Sallie was an oldschoolmate of mine. The Lodge is only a little resort of theirs, youknow, for in the city they live in grand style. I know you girls willenjoy the place, for the scenery is delightful and the clear mountainair mighty invigorating."

  All girls delight in change of location and although Irene was a littleworried over the difficulties of getting to Hillcrest Lodge in hercrippled condition, she was as eager to go as was Mary Louise. And shemade the trip more comfortably than she had feared.

  At Millbank the stage-driver fixed a comfortable seat for her in hiscarryall and loaded the boxes and baggage and the wheeled chair and thebox of books--which had arrived from New York--on the railed top of hisbus, and then they drove away through a rough but picturesque countrythat drew from the girls many exclamations of delight.

  Presently they came to a small group of dwellings called the "Huddle,"which lay at the foot of the mountain. Then up a winding path the fourhorses labored patiently, halting often to rest and get their breaths.At such times the passengers gloried in the superb views of the valleyand its farms and were never impatient to proceed. They passed one ortwo modest villas, for this splendid location had long ago beendiscovered by a few others besides Will Morrison who loved to come herefor their vacations and so escape the maddening crowds of the cities.

  Aunt Hannah had planned the trip with remarkable accuracy, for at aboutthree o'clock the lumbering stage stopped at a pretty chalet halfhidden among the tall pines and overlooking a steep bluff. Here thebaggage and boxes were speedily unloaded.

  "I gotta git back ter meet the aft'noon train," said Bill Coombs, theirdriver. "They won't be any more passingers in this direction, tain'tlikely, 'cause the houses 'roun' here is mighty scattered an' no one'sexpectin' nobody, as I know of. But in the other direction fromMillbank--Sodd Corners way--I may catch a load, if I'm lucky."

  So back he drove, leaving the Conants' traps by the roadside, and Peterbegan looking around for Morrison's man. The doors of the house werefast locked, front and rear. There was no one in the barn or theshed-like garage, where a rusty looking automobile stood. Peter lookedaround the grounds in vain. Then he whistled. Afterward he beganbawling out "Hi, there!" in a voice that echoed lonesomely throughoutthe mountain side.

  And, at last, when they were all beginning to despair, a boy cameslouching around a corner of the house, from whence no one could guess.He was whittling a stick and he continued to whittle while he stared atthe unexpected arrivals and slowly advanced. When about fifteen pacesaway he halted, with feet planted well apart, and bent his gazesturdily on his stick and knife. He was barefooted, dressed in fadedblue-jeans overalls and a rusty gingham shirt--the two united by astrap over one shoulder--and his head was covered by a broad Scotchgolf cap much too big for him and considerably too warm for the season.

  "Come here!" commanded Mr. Conant.

  The boy did not move, therefore the lawyer advanced angrily toward him.

  "Why didn't you obey me?" he asked.

  "They's gals there. I hates gals," said the boy in a confidential tone."Any sort o' men critters I kin stand, but gals gits my goat."

  "Who are you?" inquired Mr. Conant.

  "Me? I'm jus' Bub."

  "Where is Mr. Morrison's man?"

  "Meanin' Talbot? Gone up to Mark's Peak, to guide a gang o' hunters f'mthe city."

  "When did he go?" asked the lawyer.

  "I guess a Tuesday. No--a Wednesday."

  "And when will he be back?"

  The boy whittled, abstractedly.

  "Answer me!"

  "How kin I? D'ye know where Mark's Peak is?"

  "No."

  "It takes a week ter git thar; they'll likely hunt two er three weeks;mebbe more; ye kin tell that as well as I kin. Mister Will's gone terYou-RUPP with Miss' Morrison, so Talbot he won't be in no hurry tercome back."

  "Great Caesar! Here's a pretty mess. Are you Talbot's boy?"

  "Nope. I'm a Grigger, an' live over in the holler, yonder."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Earnin' two bits a week."

  "How?"

  "Lookin' after the place."

  "Very well. Mr. Morrison has given us permission to use the Lodge whilehe is away, so unlock the doors and help get the baggage in."

  The boy notched the stick with his knife, using great care.

  "Talbot didn't say nuth'n' 'bout tha
t," he remarked composedly.

  Mr. Conant uttered an impatient ejaculation. It was one of hispeculiarities to give a bark similar to that of a dog when greatlyannoyed. After staring at the boy a while he took out Will Morrison'sletter to Talbot, opened it and held it before Bub's face.

  "Read that!" he cried.

  Bub grinned and shook his head.

  "_I_ kain't read," he said.

  Mr. Conant, in a loud and severe voice, read Mr. Morrison's instructionto his man Talbot to do everything in his power to make the Conantscomfortable and to serve them as faithfully as he did his own master.The boy listened, whittling slowly. Then he said:

  "Mebbe that's all right; an' ag'in, mebbe tain't. Seein' as I kain'tread I ain't goin' ter take no one's word fer it."

  "You insolent brat!" exclaimed Peter Conant, highly incensed. Then heturned and called: "Come here, Mary Louise."

  Mary Louise promptly advanced and with every step she made the boyretreated a like distance, until the lawyer seized his arm and held itin a firm grip.

  "What do you mean by running away?" he demanded.

  "I hates gals," retorted Bub sullenly.

  "Don't be a fool. Come here, Mary Louise, and read this letter to theboy, word for word."

  Mary Louise, marking the boy's bashfulness and trying to restrain asmile, read Mr. Morrison's letter.

  "You see," said the lawyer sharply, giving Bub a little shake, "thoseare the exact words of the letter. We're going to enter the Lodge andtake possession of it, as Mr. Morrison has told us to do, and if youdon't obey my orders I shall give you a good flogging. Do youunderstand that?"

  Bub nodded, more cheerfully.

  "If ye do it by force," said he, "that lets me out. Nobody kin blame meif I'm forced."

  Mary Louise laughed so heartily that the boy cast an upward,half-approving glance at her face. Even Mr. Conant's stern visagerelaxed.

  "See here, Bub," he said, "obey my orders and no harm can come to you.This letter is genuine and if you serve us faithfully while we are hereI'll--I'll give you four bits a week."

  "Heh? Four bits!"

  "Exactly. Four bits every week."

  "Gee, that'll make six bits a week, with the two Talbot's goin' tergive me. I'm hanged ef I don't buy a sweater fer next winter, afore thecold weather comes!"

  "Very good," said Mr. Conant. "Now get busy and let us in."

  Bub deliberately closed the knife and put it in his pocket, tossingaway the stick.

  "Gals," he remarked, with another half glance at Mary Louise, "ain'tter my likin'; but FOUR BITS--"

  He turned and walked away to where a wild rosebush clambered over onecorner of the Lodge. Pushing away the thick, thorny branches with care,he thrust in his hand and drew out a bunch of keys.

  "If it's jus' the same t' you, sir, I'd ruther ye'd snatch 'em from myhand," he suggested. "Then, if I'm blamed, I kin prove a alibi."

  Mr. Conant was so irritated that he literally obeyed the boy's requestand snatched the keys. Then he led the way to the front door.

  "It's that thin, brass one," Bub hinted.

  Mr. Conant opened the front door. The place was apparently in perfectorder.

  "Go and get Hannah and Irene, please," said Peter to Mary Louise, andsoon they had all taken possession of the cosy Lodge, had opened thewindows and aired it and selected their various bedrooms.

  "It is simply delightful!" exclaimed Irene, who was again seated in herwheeled chair, "and, if Uncle Peter will build a little runway from theporch to the ground, as he did at home, I shall be able to go and comeas I please."

  Meantime Aunt Hannah--as even Mary Louise now called Mrs.Conant--ransacked the kitchen and cupboards to discover what supplieswere in the house. There was a huge stock of canned goods, which WillMorrison had begged them to use freely, and the Conants had brought abig box of other groceries with them, which was speedily unpacked.

  While the others were thus engaged in settling and arranging the house,Irene wheeled her chair to the porch, on the steps of which sat Bub,again whittling. He had shown much interest in the crippled girl, whosemisfortune seemed instantly to dispel his aversion for her sex, atleast so far as she was concerned. He was not reluctant even to look ather face and he watched with astonishment the ease with which shemanaged her chair. Having overheard, although at a distance, most ofthe boy's former conversation with Uncle Peter, Irene now beganquestioning him.

  "Have you been eating and sleeping here?"

  "Of course," answered Bub.

  "In the Lodge?"

  "No; over in Talbot's house. That's over the ridge, yonder; it's only astep, but ye kain't see it f'm here. My home's in the South Holler,four mile away."

  "Do you cook your own meals?"

  "Nobudy else ter do it."

  "And don't you get dreadfully lonesome at night?"

  "Who? Me? Guess not. What the Sam Hill is they to be lonesome over?"

  "There are no near neighbors, are there?"

  "Plenty. The Barker house is two mile one way an' the Bigbee house isjus' half a mile down the slope; guess ye passed it, comin' up; butthey ain't no one in the Bigbee house jus' now, 'cause Bigbee got shoton the mount'n las' year, a deer hunt'n', an' Bigbee's wife's marriedanother man what says he's delicate like an' can't leave the city. Butneighbors is plenty. Six mile along the canyon lives Doolittle."

  Irene was delighted with Bub's quaint language and ways and before Mrs.Conant called her family to the simple improvised dinner the chair-girlhad won the boy's heart and already they were firm friends.