Читать книгу Speedy - Frederick Schiller Faust - Страница 6

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The house of John Pierson in Durfee was not pretentious. His wife and daughter were often at him to build a much finer place because, as they pointed out, his income and his fortune both warranted such an outlay. But he continually refused.

“If I build a big house,” said he, “people will be afraid to come to me. They’ll know that the fees they pay are what support me. They’ll begin to figure out my income. As it is, they can’t tell. I take a good many charity cases. They never know just what I rake in. Believe me, my dears, there is nothing that makes a man unpopular in a small Western town so quickly as a large income which they know he bleeds out of the town without producing anything.”

“Producing!” said his wife, on this evening of his return from the mountains. “Producing indeed! I should like to know what man in Durfee produces more hard work than you do!”

“That’s very well,” said Pierson, who was at heart a very fair man, “but you must understand that after all, what I produce is only words. I don’t raise grain or cattle, or dig minerals out of the ground, or turn trees into lumber, or make cloth, or do anything else that has a concrete value in the eyes of the world.”

“Stuff!” said his wife. “You keep the affairs of people straight!”

“There is nothing,” said Pierson, “that men hate so much as paying for advice.”

“There’s no use talking any more, Mother,” said Charlotte Pierson, the daughter of the family. “Father is beginning to philosophize, and you know that when that happens neither of us can argue with him.”

“I know,” said Mrs. Pierson, “and it’s tiresome. I’m going into the house and let you sit out here with your philosophy and your thoughts about that tramp in the mountains. I should like to see that boy, though.”

“You probably will,” said Pierson, “when he comes to try to win his bet.”

“I never heard of such nonsense as that bet,” said Charlotte. “Of course he can’t do that. Because you’ll even have a chance to warn the proposed victim.”

At this point, a slender man walked down the street, paused, and then turned in up the path towards the Pierson veranda. He walked with a leisurely step, and when he came to the foot of the steps, he said: “Is this the house of Mr. John Pierson?”

“It’s Speedy!” said Pierson, springing up in excitement. “Charlotte, call Brownie, will you? Come up here, Speedy. I’m glad to see you. Mary, this is Speedy, about whom I was talking to you.”

The boy paused again, a step from the top, and bowed to Mrs. Pierson. Charlotte could be heard calling Brownie from the back porch of the house; and presently there was a scampering of the dog’s feet as it tore through the house, barking with excitement.

“He’ll know you, Speedy,” said Pierson, half kindly, half jealously. “The little rascal—”

Here Brownie knocked the screen door wide open with a blow of his forefeet, and sprang up straight at the stranger and then began to leap and whine and bark as though his real master had just come back.

“There you are,” said Pierson. “I told you so. Brownie, let him alone, now. Down, sir, down!”

There was some impatience in his voice. He could not be altogether pleased when he saw his favorite hunting dog making such a demonstration over another man.

Then Charlotte Pierson came out on the porch. The lamplight caught in her blonde hair and set it shining about her face. She was twenty, straight as a string, brown as leather and pert as an unbroken mustang, running wild.

“Charlotte,” said the lawyer, “this is Speedy. I told you that he’d turn up!”

Charlotte did not hesitate. She went forward and thanked the stranger.

She even let her hand linger in his, while she looked more closely into his face; for he was so dark that, in this light, it was hard to see him with any accuracy.

Her father was somewhat angered. He did not see why his girl should be so familiar with a tramp, no matter what good qualities that tramp might have.

So he broke in: “How did you get here so soon, Speedy?”

“Why not?” asked the boy. “I came on the same train that brought you.”

“The deuce you did,” said Pierson. “You couldn’t have done that, Speedy!”

“That’s the train I came on,” persisted the tramp.

“I had an idea that you might try that trick,” said Pierson, “and so I warned the conductor, and he warned the brakeman. I know that both of them watched for you every minute.”

“It wasn’t an altogether easy trip for me,” admitted the boy. “I started on the coal tender, and then I had to shift to blind baggage. They chased me off that, and it was the rods for a while, and then the top of the last coach, and, finally, I got pretty tired, so I came down and sat in a seat, and finished the ride on the cushions.”

“What!” exclaimed Pierson. “Didn’t they see you?”

“Sure they saw me—with my coat off, and a smudge of soot across one eye and the bridge of my nose—that’s as good as a complete mask, you know. And I had my sleeves rolled up, and a plumbing wrench in my hand. The conductor just thought that I was going back to Durfee from a railroad repair job down the line.”

Pierson lay back in his chair and laughed heartily. So did Charlotte. But Mrs. Pierson said that she could not understand what it was all about.

“It means that he beat me,” said Pierson, frankly. “And now, my lad, what’s your next step in Durfee?”

“My next step is to win the bet,” said the boy.

“To win the bet? You mean that you’re really going to try?” asked Charlotte.

“Why,” said he, “the bet’s made, and so I’ll have to do my best.”

“Oh, but Dad would let you off,” said she.

“Oh, but I wouldn’t,” said the lawyer, hastily.

“Dad!” cried Charlotte, in reproach.

“Certainly not,” answered Pierson. “If he can’t win the bet, he’ll have to go to work to make the hundred dollars that he’ll owe me. Because if I win, I want an honest hundred, young man! Two hundred, in fact, is the whole bet, if I put you in jail for this job! And I think that thirty days in jail would give you a good chance to think your life over!”

“John, you’re letting yourself go. You’re brutal!” said his wife, angrily. “After a poor boy has—”

“It’s all right,” said Speedy. “I just wanted Mr. Pierson to name the man he wants me to try for the hundred dollars.”

“Great Scott,” said Pierson, “you mean to say that you’ll try anyone I name for you?”

“Certainly,” said the boy. “A man’s not a real musician unless he can play a good tune on a bad instrument.”

Pierson began to laugh.

“Of all the brazen-faced—” he began.

His own laughter stopped his words.

“All right,” he said. “And I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll pick out the hardest man in town. Wait a minute. Mary, who’s the tightest man in town?”

“Old Tom Jenkins,” she answered, without hesitation.

“He never gave a penny away in his life,” agreed the lawyer. “But there’s someone tighter than he is. Charlotte, what’s your choice?”

“Mrs. Hilton,” said the girl. “She’s given away so much that she—”

“I beg your pardon,” said the boy. “I can’t try a woman, because I never make them professional clients of mine.”

“Hello!” said Pierson. “You limit yourself with a lot of self-made rules, it seems to me. But I’ll tell you what, my boy, I’ll name a harder subject than either of the ones the ladies have suggested. I’m going to send you to a man who works on every charity committee and never spends an infernal cent. He never gives to beggars because he says that no man needs to go hungry in a country as full of honest work as ours. I don’t think that he ever spent a cent in his life, except on himself. He’s never married, because he never could bear the thought of buying a wedding ring! That’s the kind of a fellow he is. I’m not exaggerating.”

“You mean Mr. Chalmers,” said Charlotte, breaking in. “But, Dad, that’s not fair. He’s the district attorney.”

“What of that?” answered her father. “He’s the district attorney, and he’s as keen as a hawk. The moment he begins to suspect the nature of your profession, as you call it, he’ll have you in jail so fast that your head will swim. But that’s my choice. Mind, I can’t hold you to it. But you asked me to name the hardest man in Durfee, and you see that I’ve done it. Now do as you please.”

“I’ll try Mr. Chalmers,” said the boy, nodding. “He sounds like a promising fellow, to me.”

“You’ll find him a hard nut. I haven’t exaggerated about him!”

“Well, I believe that, too,” answered the lad. “But you know that the hardest nut is packed with the sweetest meat. Will you direct me to Mr. Chalmers’ house?”

“It’s three blocks straight down that way, and a block to your left. You won’t miss it. It’s a big white house, with a lot of trees in front of it. The reason he’s living in such a big place is because his father gave it to him. I’m always wondering that he doesn’t take in roomers to fill up the spare corners of the house.”

He did not like Mr. Chalmers. As a matter of fact, he had run against him at the last election.

“Very well,” said the boy. “I’ll go to Mr. Chalmers’ house.”

“You’d better not go straight off,” warned Charlotte. “Mr. Chalmers will be at dinner, now, and if you disturb him—”

“No fair, Charlotte,” said the lawyer.

“That’s all right,” said the boy. “People give better from the table than they do from the street, I suppose. Goodbye!”

He started down the steps.

“Hold on!” said the lawyer. “How long a start am I to give you before I come over and warn him?”

“Well,” said the boy, “whatever you’d call a sporting start. I don’t care. You can come over with me, if you want.”

“Tut, tut!” smiled Pierson. “I’m not that sort of a fellow. But I take it that you’re a fast worker, and I’ll give you only fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, shame, Dad!” cried Charlotte.

But the tramp was already halfway to the gate.