Читать книгу The Touch of Abner - H. A. Cody - Страница 5

CHAPTER VII

BEATING THE MOVIES

The next morning Abner worked at his potatoes. He was not fond of this job, as the weeds were very thick and his temper was none the best. It was hard, anyway, for him to settle down for any length of time to one task. He preferred boating or lumbering, with all the excitement and uncertainty attached to each. But to be penned down in a potato patch was almost more than he could endure. It might have been different if the soil had been productive, but after hard toil there was little to show for all his efforts.

"Might as well be in a chain-gang," he meditated, as he tore at the weeds. "It's up one row an' down another, hour after hour. I jist feel wild fer somethin' to turn up. Wish to goodness Ikey Dimock 'ud happen along now. Mebbe he'd git somethin' to-day he escaped yesterday."

He paused, leaned on his hoe and looked across the field toward the gravel hill. As he did so his eyes opened wide in amazement, for there right on his land was a man with a strange looking instrument before him. He was pointing it in his direction, too. Maybe it was a gatling gun the fellow had. He had heard about such things. Ikey might have sent him to take the place by force. A fierce anger surged up in Abner's heart, and dropping his hoe, he sped to the house and took down his gun from its rack on the kitchen wall. When Mrs. Andrews asked him what he was going to do, he merely told her that there was a hawk after her chickens. Hurrying from the house, he made his way across the field, clutching his old shot-gun with both hands.

He kept his eyes fixed upon the young man, every instant expecting to see him either run or show some sign of terror and beg for his life. But when the intruder merely paused in his work, tipped back his straw hat a little and faced him without the least shadow of fear, Abner became puzzled. If the stranger had only run, it would have been a great lark chasing him across the field, brandishing his gun and shouting wild words of defiance. But to see the man viewing him so calmly upset his calculations. He slowed down, and when a few yards away he stopped and glared savagely.

"Why don't you shoot?" the stranger asked, in a matter-of-fact manner.

"I'm goin' to," was the reply.

"Well, you're a long time about it."

"Ain't ye afraid?"

"Afraid of what?"

"That I'll shoot ye."

"Not with that old gun. It wouldn't shoot a cat, and, besides, I don't believe it's loaded."

"Want me to try?"

"Sure; go ahead. I don't mind."

"Ye don't!"

"No, not a bit. But hurry up. I'm getting tired waiting."

Abner was now in a fix. He never intended to shoot the intruder, but merely wished to frighten him away. He did not know what to do, and only glared harder than ever.

"Why don't you shoot?" the stranger again asked.

"Hang the shootin'," Abner growled, as he thumped the gun down upon the ground. "De ye think I'm a brute?"

"Well, I wasn't altogether sure at first by the way you acted. I've often met brutes on four legs which performed in a similar manner, so I was somewhat puzzled."

"An' wasn't there reason?" Abner demanded. "What bizness have ye comin' on to my land?"

"What business? Why, my own, of course."

"An' what's that?"

"Don't you know?"

"Surveyin' my place, eh?"

"Sure; what did you ask me for, then?"

"But who sent ye here? Did Ikey Dimock?"

"Ikey Dimock! Let me see," and the young man scratched his head, as if in perplexity. "Say, I can't recall that name. Who is he? A friend of yours?"

"A friend of mine! Say that agin an' I'll punch ye'r face."

"Will you?"

"Sure. I won't stand fer any foolin', mind. Ye'r on my place, an' don't put on any of ye'r high-falutin' airs."

"Maybe two can play at that game of punching faces," and the stranger smiled as he straightened himself up a bit. "But I don't want to fight with you. Just let me alone until I get my work finished. If you want a row, go and fight the men who sent me here. Then you'll have all the fighting you can attend to."

"Who are they?" Abner queried.

"The members of the Government, to be sure."

"What in blazes have they to do in the matter, I'd like to know?"

"A great deal, as you'll find out. They sent me here, so it's no use to shoot me, or try to punch my nose. I'm only working under orders, and don't count."

"But what did they send ye here fer? Tell me that."

"To see how much gravel you have; that's why."

"Gravel! My gravel?"

"Yes. All that hill," and the surveyor motioned to the left.

"An' they want it? What fer?"

"For ballast."

"Ballast!"

"Certainly. The wise ones have been very uneasy of late, and have done considerable thinking. They have at last concluded that there is too much gravel right on this part of the earth's surface, and so they've decided to shift a portion of it to keep the old ship steady."

"Ye don't tell! An' where are they goin' to take it to?"

"Oh, just to the new railroad. They need ballast for that, and this is extra good stuff."

Abner lifted his old straw hat, and ran his fingers slowly through his hair. His eyes, which had been staring wide, now gradually contracted as he looked off toward the gravel hill. A new light was dawning upon his mind. He was face to face with a problem which he knew would tax his entire supply of "brains, gall, an' luck."

The surveyor, observing the expression upon his face, surmised its meaning, and his eyes twinkled.

"Catch on?" he drawled.

"But where do I come in?" Abner questioned.

"Oh, you're in already."

"Like the toad in the swill-pail, it seems to me. Not there by choice. But what am I to git out of it? That's what I want to know."

"Get out of it! Why, man, you'll be lucky to get out of it alive, same as the toad."

"I will, eh? An' why?"

"Simply because you've allowed that hill of gravel to remain there to endanger the world. That's about the first thing they'll tell you, and they'll put up such a big talk that you'll be glad to pay out your bottom dollar to help them take the gravel away."

"De ye think I'm a fool?" Abner roared, and again his eyes blazed.

"Not exactly, though you acted like one a few minutes ago. But I imagine you'll feel like one when that government bunch gets after you. They're past masters at the art of getting what they want. They will come here in autos, parade around the place, puff their expensive cigars, and hand out such talk that you'll feel small enough to crawl through a rat-hole. Oh, I've seen such cases before, and I know just what they'll do."

"H'm, I guess ye don't know Abner Andrews, then, not by a jugfull, skiddy-me-shins, if ye do. There'll be no crawlin', mind ye, to them big bugs. An' what's more, they'll never set foot on this place without my consent."

"They won't wait for your consent. They didn't send word, I suppose, asking if I might make this survey?"

"No, not a line, the skunks."

"Neither will they ask permission to tramp over your land. They'll come unexpectedly, the same as I have."

"An' they'll go as unexpectedly as they'll come," and Abner stamped upon the ground. "So will you go, young man. I ain't got nuthin' agin you personally, but ye represent that bunch of grafters, so out ye go at once, an' don't ye dare to put ye'r foot upon this place agin without my permission."

But the surveyor never moved. With his right arm resting lightly on the theodolite he fixed his eyes steadily upon the farmer.

"Ain't ye goin'?" Abner demanded.

"No."

"Ye ain't! Well, I guess ye'll change ye'r tune, me hearty, before I'm through with ye."

Suddenly raising the gun by the barrel with both hands, he drew it back over his left shoulder in a most threatening manner.

"Git," he roared, "or I'll knock out ye'r brains, providin' ye've got any."

"Go ahead, then," was the quiet reply.

"What! ain't ye afraid?" Abner asked.

"Afraid of what?"

"That I'll kill ye."

"H'm, I wish you would. It would save me from doing it myself. So hurry up."

Abner's eyes bulged with amazement, and he slowly lowered his gun.

"Say, ye'r not luney, are ye?" he queried.

"Do you think I am?"

"Well, there must be somethin' wrong with a chap who wants to be killed, that's all."

"So you're not going to knock out my brains after all?"

"Naw, I ain't no murderer."

"Too bad," and the surveyor gave a deep sigh. "It's very disappointing."

Abner was now completely bewildered, and he knew not what to do. For once in his life he was unable to make any reply. If the young man had shown the least sign of fear, or had even argued, it would have been different. But to see him so calm and unconcerned was what puzzled him. He was mad, and yet it did no good. The more excited he became, the cooler seemed the surveyor. What was he to do? He did not wish to leave the fellow and go back to the house, as that would be an acknowledgment of defeat.

Happening to glance away to the left, he was much relieved to see Jess walking across the field carrying a dish of wild strawberries she had just picked.

"Hi thar, Jess," he called. "Come here. I want ye."

At these words the surveyor turned his head. Seeing the girl approaching, he suddenly straightened himself up from his listless attitude, while an expression of interest dawned in his eyes.

Jess was certainly fair to look upon as she drew near to where the two men were standing. It was little wonder that the surveyor's heart suddenly thrilled, and his hand touched his hat. Her trim lithe figure was clad in a simple white dress, open at the throat. Her arms were bare to the elbows, and her fingers bore the crimson stains of the strawberries she had recently picked. Beneath her broad-rimmed hat tresses of wavy dark-brown hair drifted waywardly and temptingly over her sun-browned neck, cheeks and forehead. Her eyes expressed surprise as she glanced at the young man, then at her father, and finally at the grounded gun.

"What's the matter, daddy?" she enquired. "You look dangerous."

"An' I feel dangerous," Abner retorted. "But that's as fer as I kin git, blamed if it ain't."

"But what are you going to do with that gun?"

"Nuthin', 'cept tote it back to the house."

"What did you bring it here for, then?"

"To scare that," and Abner motioned toward the surveyor.

Jess looked at the young man and detected an expression of amusement in his eyes, although his face remained perfectly grave.

"What did you want to scare him for, daddy?"

"'Cause he's trespassin', that's why. He wants to steal our place."

"Steal our place!" Jess repeated in astonishment.

"Yes, that's jist it. He wants it fer a bunch of government grafters, an' when I threatened to shoot him or brain him he up an' says that he wants to be killed. Now, what de ye make of that?"

A new light of animation now beamed in Jess' eyes, and she advanced a step toward the surveyor. Here was a case which demanded her immediate attention, and she felt much elated.

"Why do you want to be killed?" she asked.

"Simply because there is no reason why I should live," was the reply.

"Oh, nonsense," and Jess stamped her right foot lightly upon the ground. "You should not utter such words. Why, a man is a coward who wants to die. It proves that he is afraid to live. Isn't that the truth?"

"Perhaps it is. But that's the way I feel, anyway."

"You are looking at things in a wrong light," Jess continued. "You need a new outlook on life, a strong, noble view. That is what will lift you out of the depths of despair. You should read 'Above the Clouds.' It is just the book you need, and I shall gladly let you have my copy."

"Give it to him, Jess," Abner encouraged. "Pile on the Social Service dope. That'll fix him, all right."

"You are too self-centred," Jess went on. "You should not let your thoughts dwell on your own troubles, but think of others and try to help them."

"Good advice, young man," Abner chuckled. "Fergit ye'r worries, like a lobster in bilin' water. Go on, Jess; ye'r doin' fine."

But Jess did not go on. A sudden embarrassment seized her, caused by the peculiar look she observed in the surveyor's eyes. It was an expression, so she thought, of mingled surprise and amusement. What must he be thinking of her? she asked herself. Her enthusiasm had carried her away. Never before had she spoken to a strange man in such a manner. A deep flush mantled her cheeks, and she glanced nervously around as if anxious to hurry away.

"Surely you're not going to leave," the young man remarked. "I am enjoying myself immensely."

"You are!" It was all Jess could say.

"Certainly. I haven't enjoyed myself so much for a long time. To be held up at the point of a gun; threatened to be brained, and then to listen to such words of wisdom all in one day is most unusual."

"Better'n a movie-show, skiddy-me-shins if it ain't," Abner growled.

For a few seconds there was a dead silence. Then the humor of the situation dawned upon Jess, and a sunny smile wreathed her face and her eyes danced with merriment. The surveyor's laugh, on the other hand, was like a pigmy explosion. He evidently had been controlling himself with the greatest effort, and this outburst was a welcome relief to his pent-up feelings. Jess, too, laughed heartily now, while Abner's face was twisted into a broad grin, as he thumped the stock of his gun several times upon the ground.

"Ho ho!" he roared. "This is a movin'-picture show, all right. Gun, villain, an' gal all here. Why, it beats the movies all holler."

Then he stepped up to the surveyor, and held out his hand.

"Say, young feller," he began, "put it thar. Ye'r all right, an' I guess ye kin go ahead with ye'r surveyin'. I do sartinly like the cut of ye'r jib. Drop around to the house some evenin' an' have a smoke."

"Not 'Above the Clouds,' but in them; is that it?" he asked, turning to Jess.

"Whichever you prefer," was the reply. "Or you may have both, if you wish," she added as an afterthought.

The surveyor watched the father and daughter as they left him and walked slowly across the field. He seemed to be in no hurry to go on with his work, but stood there until the two had disappeared within the house.

"And so that is the noted Abner Andrews, is it?" he mused. "And I was told that he wouldn't let me survey his gravel hill. I've won the bet, all right. He certainly is a queer cuss, and I thought at one time that I wouldn't leave this place alive. How in heaven's name does he happen to have a daughter like that? Good Lord, what a girl!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE DUMP SCHEME

"I wonder what the critter wants now."

"Who is it from?" Mrs. Andrews asked, as she paused in her work of beating an egg for one of her special company cakes.

For a few minutes Abner studied the letter he was holding in his hand, and paid no attention to his wife's question. He read it through again very carefully, and when he finished he gave a grunt of disgust.

"It must be serious if it makes you feel like that," Mrs. Andrews ventured.

"Hey, what's that?" Abner demanded. "Was ye speakin', Tildy?"

"Yes, I was. But what's the use of my speaking, when you're as deaf as a post. I was merely asking you who's the letter from?"

"Why, it's from Lawyer Rackshaw. I thought I told ye."

"What does he want?"

"He says he wants to see me on very important bizness. But I can't take the time to go to town this fine weather jist to see him. I've got to git to work hayin'."

"But you are going to town, anyway, in the morning, daddy," Jess reminded, looking up from the apples she was peeling.

"I am, eh? An' what for, I'd like to know?"

"Belle is coming on the morning train, and you must meet her."

"Oh, Lord!" Abner groaned. "I fergot all about her. Say, Jess, you take Jerry an' go fer her."

"I'm afraid I can't, daddy. There is so much work I have to do in the morning that I must stay at home. And, besides, you have to see Lawyer Rackshaw."

"So I have, confound it! But how'll I know the gal when I see her, tell me that?"

"Oh, you'll have no trouble. She has beautiful auburn hair."

"Red hair! Oh, my!" and Abner spread out his hands in dismay. "What next? Pink eyes?"

"No, no," and Jess laughed. "Not pink eyes, but sparkling dark ones, animated face, and such beautiful white teeth."

"Whew! I'll know the red hair, sparklin' eyes, an' animated face, all right, won't I, Tildy? I'll be Abner-on-the-spot as fer as they're consarned. But white teeth! How'll I know they're white? Will I have to ask her to open her mouth good an' wide so's I kin see?"

"I guess that won't be necessary," Jess laughingly replied. "As soon as Belle opens her mouth to speak, which she does very often, you will see her teeth, all right. You will know her anyway, for she is sure to be well dressed, and not likely she will be wearing any hat. It's a fad of hers."

"No hat! Gee whittaker! I wish you'd do the same, Jess; it'd save a lot of money."

Abner rose to his feet, picked up his hat, and reached for his pipe.

"I'm goin' over to see Lost Tribes, Tildy," he announced. "I want to know how Widder Denton is makin' out with her kids. Anything ye want me to do before I go?"

"Yes, you can bring in a pail of water and some wood. You might as well fasten up the chicken-coops, as I am too busy. I wish you'd set a trap, for there was a skunk around last night."

"H'm, is that so? Well, I guess it's the bear-trap I'd better set. There'll be more skunks around this place before long, if I'm not mistaken, an' two-legged ones at that. There was one here yesterday, but I soon cleared him out."

"Who was that?" Mrs. Andrews sharply asked. "What in the world were you up to?"

"It was Ikey Dimock. He was the skunk. He wants to buy our farm fer a summer place. What de ye think o' that?"

Abner slipped out of the house before his wife could recover from her astonishment to question him further.

"I've given Tildy a jolt," he chuckled, as he moved across the field toward Zeb's house. "I wonder what she'd think of the Dimocks livin' here? Mebbe it'll make her consider the old place is of some value after all."

Abner soon returned, harnessed Jerry and drove into town. He was hitching his horse to the post near the station-house when the agent appeared around the corner of the building.

"Mornin', Sam," he accosted. "How's the train?"

"On time," was the reply. "Expecting anyone?"

Abner gave the rope a final yank, and then turned toward the agent.

"Say, Sam," he began, "will ye do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Well, ye see, I'm expectin' company on the train this mornin', an' as you're mighty slick with women folks I thought mebbe ye'd meet her, in case I don't git back in time."

"Meet who?" Sam demanded in surprise.

"Why, Belle Rivers, of course. Didn't I tell ye? She's the 'torney General's gal, an' she's comin' on a visit to our place. I'm here to meet her, but if you'd do it fer me, break the ice, so to speak, I'd consider it a great favor."

Sam was all alert now, and keen with interest. The Attorney General Rivers' daughter! What a piece of news he would have for the reporter of The Live Wire when he made his regular afternoon call. The whole town would be agog at the news, and he mentally pictured the excitement of Mrs. Dimock and Mrs. Rackshaw when they heard it.

"Will ye do it, Sam?" Abner asked.

"Sure, I shall be only too delighted. But how shall I know her?"

"Oh, ye'll have no trouble. Let me see," and Abner scratched the back of his head. "Jess gave me a full description. She's got hair like fire; eyes like diamonds; cheeks like roses; and teeth like the white of an egg; dresses like one of the fashion picters, an' doesn't wear any hat."

"Gee whiz!" Sam exclaimed. "If she's all that she must be worth looking at. And, say, Mr. Andrews, I didn't know you were so poetical."

"Poetical! What de ye mean?"

"Why, the way you described Miss Rivers. I never heard you use such language before."

"Oh, that ain't nuthin' to what I kin do. Ye should hear me when Bill Kincaid's cows break into my oats. Then ye'd know somethin' about my command of the English language."

"I guess there wouldn't be much poetry about such language, would there?" Sam smilingly bantered. "A poet, for instance, needs to be inspired, so I understand."

"An' de ye think I'm not inspired when I'm chasin' them cows? Tildy says I am, an' I guess the cows do, too, by the way they run. I know I feel inspired, anyway, an' I'm all het up an' excited fer the rest of the day. That's the way poets look when they're inspired, accordin' to the picters I've seen of 'em. But, there, I must be off. Ye'll look after that gal, Sam, like a good feller, won't ye? Show her my waggon there, an' tell her she kin study the sights of the town while she waits. If she's nervous, homesick, or anythin' like that, ye might take her into the waitin'-room. I'll make it all right with ye, Sam. Don't fergit what she looks like, 'specially the red hair."

Lawyer Rackshaw was seated at his office desk as Abner entered. He rose briskly to his feet, and grasped the farmer by the hand.

"I've just come in," he told him, "and am enjoying my usual morning smoke. Sit right down and have a cigar."

"Another ten-center, eh?" Abner queried, as he sat down, crossed his legs, bit off the end of the Havana, and struck a match.

"Yes, Mr. Andrews, it's the real thing, all right. I was quite certain you would call to-day, and so had it ready. You received my letter?"

"Sure; that's why I'm here. I allus hustle when I git a letter from a lawyer jist the same as I do when a hen hollers, fer then I know a hawk's after her. It's a sure sign there's somethin' important astir."

A peculiar smile lurked in the lawyer's eyes as he reached out and picked up a paper lying upon the desk.

"I hope this is not a case of the hen and the hawk," he replied, as he tilted back in his chair and bent his eyes on the paper.

"Hope not," Abner sighed, as he blew forth a great cloud of smoke. "But, then, one kin never tell."

"This has merely to do with the new Orphan Home," the lawyer explained, "and no matter what tricks there might be in other matters, there must be nothing shady in a transaction where poor helpless children are concerned."

"Ye're sartinly right," Abner assented. "When it comes to the care of poor little orphans everythin' must be squared with the great Golden Rule, as old Parson Shaw used to say. How's the Home gittin' along, anyway?"

"First rate. It's in connection with that I wish to speak to you to-day."

"I thought so. Is the buildin' up yit?"

"Oh, no. It's been such a short time since the meeting that we've been able to do little more than settle upon a suitable situation for the institution. We have given considerable thought to the matter, and are most fortunate in obtaining a plot of ground at a very reasonable cost."

"Cost!" Abner exclaimed in astonishment. "Will it cost anythin' fer a piece of ground fer the Home? Why, there's lots of idle land in this town."

"But none so suitable as the one we have settled upon. And it is reasonable, too, considering the many advantages connected with it, such as the fine view, and the distance from private dwellings. It will cost us only one thousand dollars for such a situation as that."

"One thousand dollars!" Abner almost leaped out of his chair. "Good Lord! Has this town come to that, when it wants one thousand dollars fer a piece of ground fer an Orphan Home! Where is this wonderful spot, I'd like to know, an' who owns it?"

"It lies just outside of the town, near the creek, and is a part of the land owned by Mr. Henry Whittles."

"What! The dump?"

"Well, you see, it's not all dump, as there is more land surrounding it which will make an excellent playground for the children."

"An' Hen Whittles wants one thousand dollars fer that?"

"He says he is willing to let it go at that sum, considering what it is to be used for."

"He is sartinly generous. An' so I s'pose ye want the money I offered to pay fer it, eh?"

"Yes, if you can find it convenient to let us have it now. As soon as we get the matter of the land settled we can rush the building along."

This was more than Abner could stand. His pent-up wrath and righteous indignation could be controlled no longer. Bounding from his seat, he towered above the legal light of Glucom. He thrust out his big right hand toward the lawyer's face, forgetting in his excitement that the fingers of that hand clutched the partly smoked cigar. He hardly realized what he was doing. But the lawyer did, and when the hot end of the cigar came into sudden contact with the tip of his nose, he emitted a yell of pain and lurched violently back in an effort to escape the onslaught. The result was most disastrous, for the sudden recoil sent swivel-chair and occupant backwards upon the floor.

With as much dignity as possible the lawyer picked himself up, righted the chair, and sat down again. He was mad, and longed to turn his sharp tongue upon the cause of the disaster. But he was shrewd enough to control his temper, and pretend to make light of the mishap. He would get more than even in due time. But the end of his nose was smarting painfully, and he could not keep his fingers away from the injured member.

Abner was at first surprised at the lawyer's sudden collapse. Then a smile lightened his face.

"De ye do that every day?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Cut up sich capers. Regular mornin' exercise, I s'pose."

"Certainly not. Do you think I'm accustomed to having a hot cigar dashed into my nose every morning?"

"Well, it's not altogether likely, oh, no. But judgin' by the color of ye'r nose I'd say it's been affected by somethin' more fiery than a hot ten-cent cigar."

"Ye do, eh?" The lawyer was visibly irritated now.

"I sure do. But that was an inward application, while mine was outward. It was merely a touch of Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint, an' when an' where he touches there's ginerally somethin' doin' which ain't allus pleasant to the feelin's, either."

"I hope your touch is not always as hot as the one you just applied to my nose, anyway," the lawyer replied.

"Oh, it's a dam sight hotter sometimes, let me tell ye that, 'specially when there's somethin' crooked afoot."

"What are you driving at?"

"What am I drivin' at? Why, at that Orphan Home affair. It jist twists me all to pieces when I think of Hen Whittles wantin' one thousand dollars fer that dump of his, an' him one of the richest men in Glucom, at that."

"But surely you don't expect him to give it for nothing, do you?" the lawyer queried.

"An' why not? It's worth nuthin', an' what's more, Hen Whittles should be fined fer keepin' sich a disgraceful place so near town. Every time I drive past that spot I have to hold me nose, the smell is so bad. An' sich a mess of stuff! Tin cans, dead cats an' dogs, an' every blamed thing that isn't of any use is dumped there. It'd take more'n a thousand dollars to clean it up. The Board of Health should git after Hen an' make him squirm like an angle-worm on a hook."

"But what are we going to do about it?" the lawyer asked, now greatly annoyed.

"Do about it?" Abner roared, rising to his feet. "Why, git a decent place, of course. There's lots of land in town fer that Home without puttin' it on top of a stinkin' dump."

"But suppose we can't get any other place?"

"Then come to Ash Pint. If the people of this town are as mean as all that, I'll give 'em all the land they want fer the Home. An' it'll be clean land, too, with a great view, plenty of fresh air, an' the river right near where the youngsters kin swim. That's all I've got to say."

Abner picked up his hat and started for the door when the lawyer detained him.

"Surely you're not going to back down," he coolly remarked.

"Back down! On what?"

"On the offer you made, that is, the money you promised to give for the Home."

"Back down! No! Did ye ever hear of Abner Andrews backin' down? I'm jist buckin' up, that's what I'm doin'. I'm not goin' to give a red cent fer Hen Whittles' stinkin' dump, so you an' the rest of the gang kin chew on that fer a while."

CHAPTER IX

A SLIP OF A GAL

When Abner had closed the door behind him, he stood in the middle of the sidewalk and looked at his watch. He had half an hour to spare before the arrival of the train, and that would allow him plenty of time to visit the dump, and give it a thorough inspection. He was mad, and to look again upon the mass of rubbish collected there would afford him considerable satisfaction.

It took him but ten minutes to reach the place. Here he stopped and viewed the locality. He longed to have Henry Whittles by his side that he might give expression to the feeling of indignation which was agitating his soul. But not a person could he behold. It was a most unsavoury spot, and the only living creatures there were several crows feasting upon some carrion not far off.

"An' so this is where they want to build the Home!" he growled. "Good Lord! what a place! Why, it's nuthin' more'n the Toefat of the Bible, which I've heard old Parson Shaw speak about. He said it was the place where them ancient divils sacrificed their children to their god Mulick. But I guess we've got jist as big divils now as they had then, an' mebbe a darn sight bigger. Them old fellers didn't know any better. It was a part of their religion, so I understand. But these modern cusses want to sacrifice poor little orphan kids in a hole like this, when they know better, an' have lots of other land where they kin build that Home. An' they call it 'charity.' Holy Smoke! It makes me mad. I want to hit somebody, an' I'd like that somebody to be Hen Whittles. An' him pertendin' to be a Christian. Bah!"

So intense were Abner's feelings that he forgot all about the train. He could think only of the meanness of Henry Whittles and those who were in league with him. Not a cent of money would he give, so he vowed, if they persisted in placing the Home in such a vile place. He knew that it could be levelled off, and cleaned up to a certain extent. But that would take much of the money needed for the erection of the building. Then he thought of Lawyer Rackshaw and his contemptible dealings with Widow Denton. He was glad that his nose had been scorched, and that he had tumbled backwards upon the floor.

"Pity he hadn't broken his neck," he muttered. "This town could well do without sich a thing as that."

Abner was aroused from his reverie by the screech of the train as it approached a crossing about half a mile from the station. He glanced at his watch in astonishment, and then hurried back through the town.

"I had no idea it was train time," he mused. "But I guess Sam'll look after the gal all right. Not bein' there will save me a lot of fussin'. Sam likes that kind of thing, 'specially when a pretty gal's consarned."

Abner was about one hundred yards from the station when he saw a horse, drawing an express waggon, coming toward him. As it approached, he noticed that a woman held the reins, and that she was bareheaded. In a twinkling the truth flashed upon him, and he paused, uncertain what to do. He knew that it was Belle Rivers driving Jerry at an unusually fast clip. She was using the whip, too, and it was quite evident that Jerry was receiving the surprise of his life.

At first Abner was astonished. Then he grew indignant, and sprang into the middle of the street as Jerry drew near. He reached out to grasp the horse by the bridle, but as he did so the fair driver brought the whip stingingly down upon his head. With a roar Abner made for the waggon, but was met with another and yet another well-aimed blow.

This excitement, combined with the flourishing of the whip, was more than Jerry could stand. With lowered head, he sped along the street, leaving a huge cloud of dust in his wake. Abner had just time to leap and seize the end of the express as it dashed by, and to pull himself partly aboard. He sprawled across the tailboard, holding on by his elbows, and balancing himself upon his stomach, with his feet beating a tattoo upon the ground. He tried to clutch at something, but the rattle of the waggon, and the steady rain of blows upon his head and shoulders, prevented him from making any progress. And there he hung, speechless and helpless.

The people on the main street of Glucom were greatly excited at the strange spectacle they beheld. They could only stand and stare, unable to do anything. But one of the few policemen of which the town boasted happened to be coming along that very moment, and sprang into the middle of the street to intercept what he believed was a runaway horse. The driver saw him and, with considerable difficulty, reined up Jerry by his side.

"Arrest that man," she ordered, turning around and pointing to Abner, who had just tumbled off the waggon.

"Arrest her," Abner shouted, struggling unsteadily to his feet.

"Why, what's the meaning of all this, Mr. Andrews?" the policeman enquired.

"She stole my hoss an' waggon, an' beat me black an' blue; that's what's the matter."

A startled expression suddenly overspread Belle Rivers' face, and she dropped the reins upon her lap.

"Mr. Andrews!" It was all she could say, as her eyes swiftly scanned Abner's unshaven face, rough, dust-covered clothes, and coarse unblackened boots.

"Yes, it's Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint," he chuckled, noting the girl's embarrassment.

"But I didn't know, that is, I didn't expect——" the girl stammered.

"Oh, no, ye didn't know him. Expected to find him a reg'lar country gentleman, eh? With tan shoes, pants all creased down in front, big panyma hat, an' smokin' a ten-cent cigar."

The girl's cheeks were scarlet as she listened to this charge, which she knew was absolutely true. Then the humor of the situation dawned upon her, and a smile wreathed her face.

"Will you forgive me, Mr. Andrews?" she asked. "I have been cruelly rude."

"But what about me head and shoulders?" Abner queried. "Will ye'r sweet apology cure the lumps ye made with that confounded whip?"

"Perhaps not, but when we get home I shall attend to your bruises with my own hands."

"Ye'll only make 'em worse," Abner growled.

"Say, Mr. Andrews," the policeman interposed, "I've a good mind to arrest you."

"Arrest me! Why?"

"As an idiot."

"Idiot!" Abner was staring hard now at the guardian of the law.

"Yes, as an idiot. You must surely be one, or you'd jump at the chance of having your head and shoulders attended to by the likes of her. I wish it had been me she threshed."

This view of the situation appealed to Abner, and he squinted an eye at the policeman.

"I see ye'r pint, Tom, an' it's a good one. Guess I'd better hustle home, fer I do feel mighty sore."

Scrambling up over the wheel, he flopped himself down by Belle's side and picked up the reins.

"Well, s'long, Tom. Much obliged fer ye'r help an' advice. Will see ye later. Gid-dap, Jerry."

After they had fairly started on the homeward way, Abner pulled out his pipe and tobacco.

"De ye mind smokin'?" he asked.

"No, not at all," the girl replied. "I enjoy the smell of tobacco."

"That's good. Me nerves are a bit upsot to-day, an' terbaccer allus steadies 'em."

"I am afraid that I am the cause of your trouble, Mr. Andrews. I had no idea that it was you I was whipping, but thought it was a scoundrel wishing to harm me."

"Ye didn't know me, eh? Well, where in the name of all creation was ye goin' with Jerry?"

"Merely for a drive. I didn't want to sit in the waggon with the young men at the station staring at me, so I thought I would drive around for a while until you came back. That was all."

"H'm, so that was the way of it, eh? But I do admire ye'r pluck. The way ye walloped me was sartinly wonderful, an' you only a slip of a gal at that."

"I'm used to taking care of myself, Mr. Andrews. In fact, I like an adventure once in a while, for it adds a little spice to life."

"Sure, sure, ye'r right, Miss. Guess we must be somethin' alike as fer's that's consarned."

"And you are fond of adventure, too; of real exciting experiences?" the girl eagerly asked.

"Yes; it's meat an' drink to me."

"But you don't find much adventure on a quiet farm, do you?"

"Adventure! Well, I guess ye don't know Ash Pint yit. Why, my old farm is so light that I have to keep it anchored down fer fear it'll go up like a balloon."

"Oh!"

"Yep; that's Gospel truth. G'long, Jerry. Then, there's a gravel hill on my place which makes the earth top heavy, an' so the Government is goin' to take it away."

"You don't say so! Why, Jess never told me anything about such things."

"Oh, she's used to 'em. Anyway, she's so sot on Social Service that she can't come down to common things. Say, de you swaller all that stuff?"

"What stuff?"

"Social Service gas, an' what it'll do fer the world, sich as elevatin' pigs into hogs an' sich like."

"I try to be interested," and Belle gave a deep sigh. "Jess is so wrapped up in her work that I do all I can to help her. But I ani afraid that I'm too light-headed for such things."

"Light-headed, be fiddled," Abner growled. "Ye may be light-headed as fer as the color of ye'r hair goes, but no further, skiddy-me-shins if ye are. Ye'r all right, an' I'm mighty glad ye'r not luney over that Social Service bizness."

"You are!"

"'Deed I am, an' I wish to goodness that Jess 'ud git sich nonsense knocked out of her head."

"But it doesn't hurt her, does it?" Belle queried. "I don't believe anything could change Jess from the sweet, jolly girl that she always is."

"Oh, no, Jess is all right that way. But, ye see, she wants to go away to some big city instead of stayin' at home where there's a darn sight of elevatin' to be done. That's what riles me."

"Oh, I see," Belle meditatively replied. "You wish her to remain with you?"

"That's jist it, Miss. There's only me an' Tildy, an' it needs someone to brighten up the house a bit. I tell ye our house doesn't allus have a heavenly atmosphere when we're alone, not by a jugful. The best wheel an' axle will git hot an' make an unholy noise if they run too long together without bein' greased. I guess most married folks are that way."

"I understand," and Belle smiled. "Jess acts as a go-between to make affairs run smoothly.

"Yep, that's jist it. She's the grease, an' she sartinly works wonders in stoppin' the creakin' in our house. That's why I want her to stay with us."

"Have you spoken to Jess about it?" Belle asked.

"Sure. Had a long talk with her."

"And what did she say?"

"Said there wasn't enough to do at home; that she needed more sailin' room. I wish to goodness she'd lower her sail, an' drop anchor at Ash Pint. It 'ud make all the difference in the world to me an' Tildy."

"Then you must see that she does," was the emphatic reply.

"Does what? Lower her sail and drop anchor at home?"

"Yes."

"But how kin I do it?"

"Get something important for her to do along Social Service lines. That will keep her for a while at least."

"But what kin she do?"

"I cannot say now, but perhaps something will turn up. We must try to work out a plan which will prove attractive."

"Say, you've got a shrewd head on ye'r shoulders, Miss. I guess you've hit the bull's-eye, all right. Yes, we must git an anchor of some kind that'll hold solid."

These two were now becoming firm friends, and they talked about various matters. Belle explained about her life at the Seminary, and Abner told about the proposed Orphan Home, and his conversation that morning with Lawyer Rackshaw. He was somewhat surprised with himself for talking in such a free and easy manner. But the girl was so sympathetic and willing to listen, that he found it a great comfort to confide in her.

"Ye won't say a word about this to Tildy an' Jess, will ye?" he asked. "They don't seem to understand sich things. But you do, an' that's why I've said more to you than to anyone else."

"I'm good at keeping secrets, Mr. Andrews," was the reply, "and I thank you for your confidence."

"It's them Denton kids I'm worryin' about," Abner explained. "They should be put into a good home at once. I really don't know what will become of 'em, to say nuthin' about the widder."

They were in sight of Ash Point now, and Abner directed Belle's attention to his house some distance ahead, nestling among the trees.

"It ain't much of a place," he apologized, "but ye'll git a hearty welcome, lots of room, an' plenty of fresh air. It's a mighty healthy place, if I do say it."

He paused and a peculiar expression suddenly lightened his face. He straightened himself up with a jerk, and brought the palm of his hand down upon his knee with a whack.

"Anything wrong?" Belle enquired.

"Nuthin' but a kink. I have it sometimes an' it makes me kinder queer."

"Where does it affect you?"

"Ginerally in me head."

"That's serious, isn't it? What do you do for it?"

"Jist git out an' make it hustle."

"Make what hustle? The kink?"

"That's it, 'specially if it's a dandy."

"A dandy!"

"Yep; a dandy idea. That's what I've got. But here we are at home, an' there's Tildy an' Jess waitin' at the door."