Читать книгу Jerry Todd's Poodle Parlor - Edward Edson Lee - Страница 5

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On the way out to the highway we met a car coming in.

“I wonder who that is?” I spoke anxiously, as the dapperish little driver got out and started toward us.

“I bet a cookie it’s that hotel manager,” Red said quickly. “He looks like a foreigner.”

“S-s-sure thing it’s him,” put in Horse Foot. “I can s-s-see the hotel name on the side of his car.”

“Good afternoon, boys,” the man came up pleasantly, with a fixed smooth smile. “A nice horse you have here,” he stopped to pat it.

“Yes, sir,” I replied politely.

“Come far?” he then asked.

“From Tutter,” I told him, wondering uneasily if he was planning to take the lumber away from us. Having paid for it, I didn’t see how he very well could, but certainly he had something tricky up his sleeve.

“I see you’ve been in here getting some lumber,” he looked it over, his sharp black eyes taking in every piece of it.

“Yes, sir,” I told him.

“Going to build something yourselves?” he further quizzed.

“Yes, sir,” I told him again.

“A cabin?”

“No, sir—a little candy store.”

“Oh, young storekeepers, eh?” he pleasantly arched his eyebrows. “That’s interesting. It should be a very helpful experience for you, too. This is all lumber from the old hotel, I take it.”

“Yes, sir. We just bought it from the carpenter there.”

“You—eh—brought along a court order, I presume,” came casually, as he walked thoughtfully around the cart.

“A court order?” I followed him around with my eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh!” his black eyebrows went up again, but gravely this time. “Then you haven’t one? That’s too bad.”

“The lumber’s paid for, if that’s what you mean,” I told him.

He stopped with pretended deep concern.

“I’d dislike very much to see you boys get into trouble,” he told us gravely. “That could easily happen to you, though, or to anybody else taking lumber out of here without an official court permit. Just who the rightful owner of the property is has never been established in the courts, though at the present moment a Miss Florence Windmere, of New York City, seems to consider herself the foremost claimant. However, it is the court’s duty to protect the other claimants and until the estate has finally been settled nothing here should be removed without a formal court order. Does that clarify the matter for you, boys?”

It did—and it didn’t. Having been put out of here once already, I felt myself that he was just trying to do the same thing, only more trickily.

“How about Mrs. Beesaddle?” I asked him. “She’s been taking lumber out of here. Did she have a permit?”

“Unfortunately—no,” he pretended concern over that, too, though anybody with any brains at all could see that it was all put on. “Usually a very clever woman and always a most charming one, Mrs. Beesaddle, I’m sorry to say, may find herself in the rather awkward position of having to return every board that she has taken from here.”

“Fiddlesticks!” the farm woman here spoke for herself, coming suddenly into sight with a covered lunch basket on her arm. “If you want that lumber, boys,” she told us vigorously, “go ahead and take it—he can’t stop you, the little windbag!”

The manager’s face was cloaked in smiles.

“Oh!” he hid his true feelings under an exclamation of delight. “It is the most charming Mrs. Beesaddle herself! A beautiful June day, my dear Mrs. Beesaddle!”

“It was,” she snapped contemptuously, “till I met you. But in the woods, of course, one is liable to meet a snake any time.”

Even that didn’t ruffle him!

“Coming from so charming a person,” he bowed extravagantly, “even a jolly little gibe like that can bring only courteous smiles. So often I have said to myself, ‘Oh, the lucky—the very lucky Mr. Beesaddle! Not only has he the most charming wife in the community, but also the wittiest.’ Mrs. Beesaddle, I bow again to your charming wit.”

“If you’re putting on that program for my benefit,” she told him bluntly, “you might just as well ring down the curtain. I know what you really think of me, and I know what you’d like to do to my cabin business too. Those supposedly polished manners of yours don’t deceive me or mislead me in the least. As for you three boys,” she turned kindly to us, “I have an apology to make to you. This morning I thought you had come over from his place—that you had been sent over on some kind of trickery of his invention. I learned differently, though, from your friend, the Ellery boy. I’m sorry I was so rude.”

“Oh, but my charming lady!” the manager swung in again, with another extravagant bow. “Never, never could that happen. No, never could so charming a lady be rude. It is unthinkable.”

Mrs. Beesaddle turned on him with contempt that would have withered any ordinary man on the spot.

“Oh, are you still here? I thought maybe you’d taken the hint and left. Certainly I can’t imagine what you’re staying for. Miss Florence Windmere surely must have wired you regretfully at the same time she wired me. However, in case she didn’t, permit me to very delightedly inform you, Mr. Troublemaker, that in spite of all your efforts to thwart me, the hotel building, as it stands, is mine, to further tear down and use as I see fit. So, defeated again, if you care to get behind your car and let your real feelings show in your face, it is perfectly satisfactory with me. Or if you care to go off fuming in your car, I’m sure no regrets over your departure will be felt here.”

That brought some of the manager’s true feelings into his swarthy face in spite of himself.

“And did Miss Florence Windmere wire you, too,” he asked blandly, “that she had no real right to sell any of the property here? Did she tell you that the estate has never been legally settled since the death, years ago, of her uncle, Gordon Windmere, the hotel builder? Did she tell you further that there are other heirs—the direct descendants of Gordon Windmere—and that the courts are bound to see that the rights of these other heirs are protected till a final settlement is achieved?”

“Bunk!” Mrs. Beesaddle indifferently dismissed the whole matter with a wave of her hand.

“Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Beesaddle,” came with evident satisfaction. “It is not, as you say, ‘bunk’ at all. It is facts, dug up for me by my lawyer. Anything that you or these boys take from here you can be made to bring back. In fact, I shall make it my business to see that it is brought back.”

Putting down her basket, Mrs. Beesaddle faced him arms akimbo.

“Mr. Norning, I don’t know how much of this nation’s early history penetrated the country you came from but, in case you may be poorly posted on the subject, permit me to inform you that the freedom you found here when you got here didn’t just happen. It was fought for by a determined group of pioneer fighting men whose descendants are prepared to carry on the fight to preserve it. I can say that authoritatively, for I come of exactly that kind of fighting stock—fighters, all of us! My two great-great-grandfathers fought beside George Washington throughout the American Revolution; six of my uncles carried arms throughout the Civil War, three on a side; my own husband went off with my cheers to fight in the Spanish-American War an hour after our marriage; and my only child—my boy Tom—gave his life in the recent World War. That in brief, Mr. Norning, is the record of a fighting family. Give us a worthy ideal and if necessary we’ll die fighting for it. In this matter I consider myself wholly in the right and to preserve my rights will fight you down to my last dollar, with every ounce of energy I have. Court orders, bah! Failing in every other scheme to thwart me, you come now with this trumped-up threat. Well, it doesn’t frighten me, nor will it deter me in the least. If I need more lumber from the old hotel, I’ll take it, having authority from Miss Florence Windmere to do so. That’s all I have to say to you—you runtish mentally-deficient troublemaker! Good day!”

“Oh, but just a minute, Mrs. Beesaddle!” he stopped her. “Please!”

“I have nothing more to say to you, Mr. Norning.”

“But I have something to say to you. I’ve already offered you six thousand dollars for your farm. I’d advise you to sell, Mrs. Beesaddle.”

“I don’t intend to sell.”

“It might be to your best interests,” came blandly.

“Is that a threat?” she stiffened.

“Well,” he spoke lightly, but with closely narrowed eyes now, “many unexpected things could happen around here. I’ll drop in on you in a week or so. You may be in a more receptive mood then.”

“I can tell you right now that I won’t, so just save yourself the trip. I wouldn’t sell out to you for sixty thousand dollars.”

“Mrs. Beesaddle,” came pleasantly, “I’m going to venture a prophecy.”

“I don’t care to hear it,” she snapped.

“Oh, but I want you to hear it! The prophecy is that before June expires you’ll be after me to take over your farm for even less than the six thousand dollars I’ve offered. That’s something for you to think about, my most charming neighbor. Good day!”

They both went off then, one one way and the other the other. Afraid that we’d get into trouble if we kept the lumber, we took it back, getting our money back, and then went off growling ourselves.