Mary Louise

by L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER XV

  BUB'S HOBBY

  When their visitor had departed Mary Louise turned to her friend.

  "Now, Irene, tell me about that queer letter," she begged.

  "Not yet, dear. I'm sure it isn't important, though it's curious tofind such an old letter tucked away in a book Uncle Peter bought at anauction in New York--a letter that refers to your own people, in dayslong gone by. In fact, Mary Louise, it was written so long ago that itcannot possibly interest us except as proof of the saying that theworld's a mighty small place. When I have nothing else to do I mean toread that old epistle from start to finish; then, if it containsanything you'd care to see, I'll let you have a look at it."

  With this promise Mary Louise was forced to be content, for she did notwish to annoy Irene by further pleadings. It really seemed, onreflection, that the letter could be of little consequence to anyone.So she put it out of mind, especially as just now they spied Bubsitting on the bench and whittling as industriously as ever.

  "Let me go to him first," suggested Irene, with a mischievous smile."He doesn't seem at all afraid of me, for some reason, and after I'veled him into conversation you can join us."

  So she wheeled her chair over to where the boy sat. He glanced towardher as she approached the bench but made no movement to flee.

  "We've had a visitor," said the girl, confidentially; "a lady who hastaken the Bigbee house for the summer."

  Bub nodded, still whittling.

  "I know; I seen her drive her car up the grade on high," he remarked,feeling the edge of his knife-blade reflectively. "Seems like a realsport--fer a gal--don't she?"

  "She isn't a girl; she's a grown woman."

  "To me," said Bub, "ev'rything in skirts is gals. The older they gits,the more ornery, to my mind. Never seen a gal yit what's wuth havin''round."

  "Some day," said Irene with a smile, "you may change your mind aboutgirls."

  "An' ag'in," said Bub, "I mayn't. Dad says he were soft in the headwhen he took up with marm, an' Talbot owned a wife once what tried terpizen him; so he giv 'er the shake an' come here to live in peace; butDad's so used to scoldin's thet he can't sleep sound in the open anymore onless he lays down beside the brook where it's noisiest. Then itreminds him o' marm an' he feels like he's to home. Gals think they gotthe men scared, an' sometimes they guess right. Even Miss' Morrisonmakes Will toe the mark, an' Miss' Morrison ain't no slouch, fer a gal."

  This somewhat voluble screed was delivered slowly, interspersed withperiods of aimless whittling, and when Irene had patiently heard itthrough she decided it wise to change the subject.

  "To-morrow we are going to ride in Miss Lord's automobile," sheremarked.

  Bub grunted.

  "She says she can easily run it up to our door. Do you believe that!"

  "Why not?" he inquired. "Don't Will Morrison have a car? It's overthere in the shed now."

  "Could it be used?" quietly asked Mary Louise, who had now strolled upbehind the bench unperceived.

  Bub turned a scowling face to her, but she was looking out across thebluff. And she had broached a subject in which the boy was intenselyinterested.

  "Thet thar car in there is a reg'lar hummer," he asserted, waving theknife in one hand and the stick in the other by way of emphasis."Tain't much fer looks, ye know, but looks cuts no figger withmachinery, s'long's it's well greased. On a hill, thet car's a cat; ona level stretch, she's a jack-rabbit. I've seen Will Morrison take 'erter Millbank an' back in a hour--jus' one lonesome hour!"

  "That must have been in its good days," observed Mary Louise. "Thething hasn't any tires on it now."

  "Will takes the tires off ev'ry year, when he goes away, an' puts 'emin the cellar," explained Bub. "They's seven good tires down cellarnow; I counted 'em the day afore ye come here."

  "In that case," said Mary Louise, "if any of us knew how to drive wecould use the car."

  "Drive?" said Bub scornfully. "That's nuth'n'."

  "Oh. Do you know how?"

  "Me? I kin drive any car thet's on wheels. Two years ago, afore Talbotcome, I used ter drive Will Morrison over t' Millbank ev'ry week t'catch the train; an' brung the car home ag'in; an' went fer Will whenhe come back."

  "You must have been very young, two years ago," said Irene.

  "Shucks. I'm goin' on fifteen this very minnit. When I were 'leven Idruv the Higgins car fer 'em an' never hit the ditch once. Young!Wha'd'ye think I am--a KID?"

  So indignant had he become that he suddenly rose and slouched away, norcould they persuade him to return.

  "We're going to have a lot of fun with that boy, once we learn how tohandle him," predicted Irene, when the two girls had enjoyed a goodlaugh at Bub's expense. "He seems a queer mixture of simplicity andshrewdness."

  The next day Agatha Lord appeared in her big touring car and afterlifting Irene in and making her quite comfortable on the back seat theyrolled gayly away to Millbank, where they had lunch at the primitiverestaurant, visited the post-office in the grocery store and amusedthemselves until the train came in and brought Peter Conant, who wasloaded down with various parcels of merchandise Aunt Hannah had ordered.

  The lawyer was greatly pleased to find a car waiting to carry him tothe Lodge and after being introduced to Miss Lord, whose loveliness hecould not fail to admire, he rode back with her in the front seat andleft Mary Louise to sit inside with Irene and the packages. Bill Coombsdidn't approve of this method of ruining his stage business and scowledat the glittering auto as it sped away across the plain to the mountain.

  On this day Miss Lord proved an exceedingly agreeable companion to themall, even Irene forgetting for the time the strange expression she hadsurprised on Agatha's face at the time she found the letter. MaryLouise seemed to have quite forgotten that letter, for she did notagain refer to it; but Irene, who had studied it closely in theseclusion of her own room that very night, had it rather persistentlyin mind and her eyes took on an added expression of grave and gentlecommiseration whenever she looked at Mary Louise's unconscious face.

  "It is much more fun," observed Peter Conant at breakfast the nestmorning, "to ride to and from the station in a motor car than topatronize Bill Coombs' rickety, slow-going omnibus. But I can't expectour fair neighbor to run a stage line for my express accommodation."

  "Will Morrison's motor car is here in the shed," said Mary Louise, andthen she told of their conversation with Bub concerning it. "He says hehas driven a car ever since he was eleven years old," she added.

  "I wondered what that boy was good for," asserted the lawyer, "yet thevery last thing I would have accused him of is being a chauffeur."

  "Why don't you put on the tires and use the car?" asked Aunt Hannah.

  "H-m. Morrison didn't mention the car to me. I suppose he forgot it.But I'm sure he'd be glad to have us use it. I'll talk with the boy."

  Bub was found near the Talbot cottage in the gully. When Mr. Conant andMary Louise approached him, soon after finishing their breakfast, hewas--as usual--diligently whittling.

  "They tell me you understand running Mr. Morrison's car," began thelawyer.

  Bub raised his eyes a moment to the speaker's face but deemed an answerunnecessary.

  "Is that true?" with an impatient inflection.

  "Kin run any car," said Bub.

  "Very well. Show me where the tires are and we will put them on. I wantyou to drive me to and from Millbank, hereafter."

  Bub retained his seat and whittled.

  "Hev ye got a order from Will Morrison, in writin'?" he demanded.

  "No, but he will be glad to have me use the machine. He said everythingat the Lodge was at my disposal."

  "Cars," said Bub, "ain't like other things. A feller'll lend hishuntin'-dog, er his knife, er his overcoat; but he's all-fired shy o'lendin' his car. Ef I runned it for ye, Will might blame ME."

  Mr. Conant fixed his dull stare on the boy's face, but Bub went onwhittling. However, in the boy's inmost heart was a keen desire to runthat motor car,
as had been proposed. So he casually remarked:

  "Ef ye forced me, ye know, I'd jus' hev to do it. Even Will couldn'tblame me ef I were forced."

  Mr. Conant was so exasperated that the hint was enough. He seized theboy's collar, lifted him off the stump and kicked him repeatedly as hepropelled his victim toward the house.

  "Oh, Uncle Peter!" cried Mary Louise, distressed; but Peter wasobdurate and Bub never whimpered. He even managed to close his knife,between kicks, and slip it into his trousers pocket.

  When they came to the garage the lawyer halted, more winded than Bub,and demanded sharply:

  "What is needed to put the car in shape to run?"

  "Tires, gas'line, oil 'n' water."

  "The tires are in the cellar, you say? Get them out or I'll skin youalive."

  Bub nodded, grinning.

  "Forcin' of me, afore a witness, lets me out," he remarked, cheerfully,and straightway went for the tires.

  Irene wheeled herself out and joined Uncle Peter and Mary Louise inwatching the boy attach the tires, which were on demountable rims andsoon put in place. All were surprised at Bub's sudden exhibition ofenergy and his deft movements, for he worked with the assurance of askilled mechanic.

  "Now, we need gasoline," said Mr. Conant. "I must order that fromMillbank, I suppose."

  "Onless ye want to rob Will Morrison's tank," agreed Bub.

  "Oh; has he a tank of gasoline here?"

  Bub nodded.

  "A undergroun' steel tank. I dunno how much gas is in it, but ef yeforced me I'd hev to measure it."

  Peter picked up a stick and shook it threateningly, whereat Bub smiledand walked to the rear of the garage where an iron plug appeared justabove the surface of the ground. This he unscrewed with a wrench,thrust in a rod and drew it out again.

  "'Bout forty gallon," he announced. "Thet's 'nough fer a starter, Iguess."

  "Then put some of it into the machine. Is there any oil?"

  "Plenty oil."

  Half an hour later Bub started the engine and rolled the car slowly outof its shed to the graveled drive in the back yard.

  "All right, mister," he announced with satisfaction. "I dunno whatWill'll say to this, but I kin prove I were forced. Want to take a ridenow?"

  "No," replied Mr. Conant, "I merely wanted to get the car in shape. Youare to take me to the station on Monday morning. Under thecircumstances we will not use Morrison's car for pleasure rides, butonly for convenience in getting from here to the trains and back. Hesurely cannot object to that."

  Bub seemed disappointed by this decision. He ran the car around theyard two or three times, testing its condition, and then returned it toits shed. Mr. Conant got his rod and reel and departed on a fishingexcursion.