Aunt Jane's Nieces at Millville

by L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER XII.

  THE BAITING OF PEGGY M'NUTT.

  By this time the three nieces were so thoroughly impressed with theimportance of the task they had undertaken that more ordinary thingsfailed to interest them. Louise longed to solve the mystery. Beth wantedto punish the wrongdoers. Patsy yearned to exonerate the friends whomshe imagined unjustly accused. Therefore the triple alliance fordetective purposes was a strong one.

  By mutual agreement they kept the matter secret from Uncle John, forthey realized what a triumph it would be to surprise the old gentlemanwith proofs of their cleverness. To confide in him now would mean toinvite no end of ridicule or good natured raillery, for Uncle John hadnot a grain of imagination or romance in his nature and would be unableto comprehend the delights of this secret investigation.

  Because he was in the dark the significant looks and unnatural gravityof his nieces in the succeeding days puzzled the poor man greatly.

  "What's wrong, girls?" he would ask. "Aren't you happy here? Do you missanything you'd like? Is it too quiet and dull at Millville to suit you?"

  "Oh, no!" they would exclaim. "We are having a splendid time, and wouldnot leave the farm for anything."

  And he often noticed them grouped in isolated places and conversing inlow, eager tones that proved "something was up." He felt somewhatgrieved that he was not their confidant, since these girls and theirloyal affection for him constituted the chief joy of his life. When heput on his regulation fishing costume and carried his expensive rod andreel, his landing net and creel to the brook for a day's sport, he couldno longer induce one of his girls to accompany him. Even Patsy pleadedlaughingly that she had certain "fish to fry" that were not to be foundin the brook.

  Soon the three nieces made their proposed visit to McNutt, their ideabeing to pump that individual until he was dry of any information hemight possess concerning the Wegg mystery. They tramped over to thevillage after breakfast one morning and found the agent seated on theporch before his little "office," by which name the front room of hiscottage was dignified. He was dressed in faded overalls, a checked shirtand a broad-brimmed cheap straw hat. His "off foot," as he called itwith grim humor, was painted green and his other foot was bare and mighthave been improved in color. Both these extremities rested on the railof the porch, while McNutt smoked a corncob pipe and stared at hisapproaching visitors with his disconcerting, protruding eyes.

  "Good morning, Mr. McNutt," said Louise, pleasantly. "We've come to seeif you have any books to sell."

  The agent drew a long breath. He had at first believed they had come toreproach him for his cruel deception; for although his conscience waswholly dormant, he had at times been a bit uneasy concerning hisremarkable book trade.

  "Uncle is making a collection of the 'Lives of the Saints.'" announcedPatsy, demurely. "At present he has but three varieties of this work,one with several pages missing, another printed partly upside down, anda third with a broken corner. He is anxious to secure some furthervariations of the 'dee looks' Lives, if you can supply them."

  Peggy's eyes couldn't stare any harder, so they just stared.

  "I--I hain't got no more on hand," he stammered, fairly nonplussed bythe remarkable statement.

  "No more? Oh, how sad. How disappointed we are," said Beth.

  "We were depending so much on you. Mr. McNutt," added Louise, in a toneof gentle reproach.

  McNutt wiggled the toes of his good foot and regarded them reflectively.These city folks were surely the "easiest marks" he had evercome across.

  "Ef ye could wait a few days," he began, hopefully, "I might----"

  "Oh, no; we can't possibly wait a single minute," declared Patsy."Unless Uncle can get the Saints right away he will lose interest in thecollection, and then he won't care for them at all."

  McNutt sighed dismally. Here was a chance to make good money by fleecingthe lambs, yet he was absolutely unable to take advantage of it.

  "Ye--ye couldn't use any duck eggs, could ye?" he said, a sudden thoughtseeming to furnish him with a brilliant idea.

  "Duck eggs?"

  "I got the dum-twistedest, extry fine lot o' duck eggs ye ever seen."

  "But what can we do with duck eggs?" inquired Beth, wonderingly, whilePatsy and Louise tried hard not to shriek with laughter.

  "W'y, set 'em under a hen, an' hatch 'em out."

  "Sir," said Beth, "I strongly disapprove of such deceptions. It seems tome that making a poor hen hatch out ducks, under the delusion that theyare chickens, is one of the most cruel and treacherous acts thathumanity can be guilty of. Imagine the poor thing's feelings when herchildren take to water! I'm surprised you could suggest such a wickeduse for duck eggs."

  McNutt wiggled his toes again, desperately.

  "Can't use any sas'frass roots, can ye?"

  "No, indeed; all we crave is the 'Lives of the Saints.'"

  "Don't want to buy no land?"

  "What have you got to sell?"

  "Nuth'n, jest now. But ef ye'll buy I kin git 'most anything."

  "Don't go to any trouble on our account, sir; we are quite content withour splendid farm."

  "Shoo! Thet ain't no good."

  "Captain Wegg thought it was," answered Louise, quickly seizing thisopening. "Otherwise he would not have built so good a house upon it."

  "The Cap'n were plumb crazy," declared the agent, emphatically. "Hedidn't want ter farm when he come here; he jest wanted to hide."

  The girls exchanged quick glances of intelligence.

  "Why?"

  "Why?" repeated McNutt. "Thet's a thing what's puzzled us fer years,miss. Some thinks Wegg were a piret; some thinks he kidnaped thet prettywife o' his'n an' took her money; some thinks he tried to rob ol' WillThompson, an' Will killed him an' then went crazy hisself. There's allsorts o' thinks goin' 'round; but who _knows_?"

  "Don't you, Mr. McNutt?"

  The agent was flattered by the question. As he had said, the Weggs hadformed the chief topic of conversation in Millville for years, and noone had a more vivid interest in their history than Marshall McMahonMcNutt. He enjoyed gossiping about the Weggs almost as much as he didselling books.

  "I never thought I had no call to stick my nose inter other folksesprivit doin's," he said, after a few puffs at the corncob pipe. "Butthey kain't hide much from Marsh McNutt, when he has his eyes open."

  Patsy wondered if he could possibly close them. The eyelids seemed to beshy and retiring.

  "I seen what I seen," continued the little man, glancing impressively athis attentive audience. "I seen Cap'n Wegg livin' without workin', ferhe never lifted a hand to do even a chore. I seen him jest settin''round an' smokin' his pipe an' a glowerin' like a devil on ev'ryonethet come near. Say, once he ordered me off'n his premises--me!"

  "What a dreadful man," said Patsy. "Did he buy any 'Lives of theSaints?'"

  "Not a Life. He made poor Ol' Hucks fetch an' carry fer him ev'ryblessid minnit, an' never paid him no wages."

  "Are you sure?" asked Louise.

  "Sure as shootin'. Hucks hain't never been seen to spend a cent in allthe years he's been here."

  "Hasn't he sold berries and fruit since the Captain's death?"

  "Jest 'nough to pay the taxes, which ain't much. Ye see, young Joe wereaway an' couldn't raise the tax money, so Ol' Hucks had to. But how theygot enough ter live on, him an' Nora, beats me."

  "Perhaps Captain Wegg left some money," suggested Patsy.

  "No; when Joe an' Hucks ransacked the house arter the Cap'n's death theycouldn't find a dollar. Cur'ous. Plenty o' money till he died, 'n' thennot a red cent. Curiouser yet. Ol' Will Thompson's savin's dis'peared,too, an' never could be located to this day."

  "Were they robbed, do you suppose?" asked Louise.

  "Nat'rally. But who done it? Not Ol' Hucks, fer he's too honest, an'hasn't showed the color of a nickel sense. Not Joe; 'cause he had toborrer five dollars of Bob West to git to the city with. Who then?"

  "Perhaps," said Louise, slowly, "some burgl
ar did it."

  "Ain't no burglers 'round these parts."

  "I suppose not. Only book agents," remarked Beth.

  McNutt flushed.

  "Do ye mean as I did it?" he demanded, angrily. "Do ye mean as I killedCap'n Wegg an' druv 01' Will crazy, an' robbed the house?"

  His features were fairly contorted, and his colorless eyes rolledfearfully.

  "If you did," said Beth, coolly, "you would be sure to deny it."

  "I kin prove a alybi," answered the little man, calming down somewhat."I kin prove my ol' woman had me locked up in the chicken-coop thetnight 'cause I wouldn't split a lot o' cordwood thet were full o'knots." He cast a half fearful glance over his shoulder toward theinterior of the cottage. "Next day I split 'em," he added, mildly.

  "Perhaps," said Louise, again, "someone who knew Captain Wegg in thedays before he came here followed him to his retreat and robbed andmurdered him."

  "Now ye've hit the nail on the head!" cried the agent, slapping his fatthigh energetically. "Thet's what I allus claimed, even when Bob Westjest shook his head an' smiled sort o' superior like."

  "Who is Bob West?" asked Louise, with interest.

  "He's our implement man, an' hardware dealer. Bob were the on'y one o'the Millville folks thet could git along with Cap'n Wegg, an' even hedidn't manage to be any special friend. Bob's rich, ye know. Rich asblazes. Folks do say he's wuth ten thousan' dollars; but it don't setBob up any. He jest minds his business an' goes on sellin' plows an'harvesters to the farmers an' takin' notes fer 'em."

  "And you say he knew Captain Wegg well?" inquired Patsy.

  "Better 'n' most folks 'round here did. Once er twicet a year the Cap'n'd go to Bob's office an' set around an' smoke his pipe. Sometimes Bobwould go to the farm an' spend an' ev'nin'; but not often. Ol' WillThompson might be said to be the on'y friend the Cap'n reallyhankered fer."

  "I'd like to meet Mr. West," said Louise, casting a shrewd look at hercousins. For here was another clue unearthed.

  "He's in his store now." remarked McNutt, "Last buildin' on the left. Yecan't miss it."

  "Thank you. Good morning, sir."

  "Can't use any buttermilk er Dutch cheese?"

  "No, thank you."

  McNutt stared after them disconsolately. These girls represented so muchmoney that ought to be in his pockets, and they were, moreover,"innercent as turtle doves"; but he could think of no way to pluck theirgolden quills or even to arrest their flight.

  "Well, let 'em go," he muttered. "This thing ain't ended yit."