Читать книгу The Girl at Bullet Lake - H. A. Cody - Страница 7
ОглавлениеAt Glengrow
Reclining in a comfortable chair upon the rectory verandah, Robert Rutledge was enjoying an after-supper smoke. It was a pleasant change for him to be away from the city in such a quiet place as this. His bitterness towards life somewhat subsided as he looked at his sister Nell close by, and Andrew seated upon the steps watching the children. Betty was perched upon the lowest step, clasping the beautiful doll Uncle Bob had brought her. John was playing with his gift, a wonderful toy tractor that when wound up would climb over almost everything. His excited shouts caused much amusement to the interested watchers.
"I feel well already," Robert declared. "The fresh air, and the joy of these children are better than any tonic. This is a glorious place, and I am so glad I came. How happy you two must be here."
"I am," Mrs. Nairn replied. "It is certainly wonderful, and with that noble river almost at our door, I am not surprised that the new hotel is attracting many people. The rooms are all taken, so I understand."
"One room would be vacant, though, but for me," Robert quietly replied. "Ah, I see you wonder what I mean, Nell. But as I was coming from the city this afternoon I saved a woman from a serious accident, death, no doubt."
"In what way, Bob?"
"Oh, it was another case of an inexperienced woman driver. I was following her up a steep hill, and when near the top she tried to change gears. She evidently became confused, for the car began to back towards the steep bank on the right. I was close behind, and seeing the danger, managed to catch the left wheel of her car with my fender. It was quite a bump, but my car held, and as soon as I could get out I blocked both of my back wheels with stones. By that time the woman was standing upon the road, and she at once began to denounce me for hitting her car. I was never so surprised in my life. I tried to explain what I had done, and showed her the steep bank. But nothing would appease her. She declared that she would have been all right, and if I had not interferred she would have backed to the foot of the hill without any trouble. That made me mad.
"Madam," I said, "if I had not stopped your car when I did it would be down over that bank, and you would now be sprouting wings in the celestial realm and tuning your sweet voice for the angelic choir!"
Mr. and Mrs. Nairn smiled at these words.
"You couldn't help being poetical, could you, Bob?" his sister queried.
"Well, there wasn't anything to inspire the muse in that woman. My, she was furious, and called me a fool. She told me it was not safe for a woman to drive alone on the roads, and I agreed with her. She even demanded that I should pay her damage. Think of that! Perhaps I should have let her go over the bank. With Mrs. Augustus Rockbridge among the angels I could breathe more freely."
"What, not Mrs. Rockbridge, wife of the editor of the Daily Echo!" Mr. Nairn exclaimed.
"The very woman, Andy. And I suppose there will be a big write-up in the paper about that affair, and the dangers women run from careless drivers."
"Did Mrs. Rockbridge know you?" his sister asked.
"Oh, yes. She called me 'Fool,' so you see she knew me, all right."
Mrs. Nairn, who had been watching the children, looked quickly around, for she detected the note of bitterness in her brother's voice.
"Don't say that, Bob. You are not a fool, but a very clever man. Just think of the wonderful things you write."
"Wonderful! Thank you, Nell, for your compliment. You are the only one who ever encourages me."
"Not at all, Bob. Others think the same as I do. I am sure the editor of the Daily Echo is always glad to have your poems and stories. He wrote a lovely editorial about them last month."
"Oh, talk is cheap, but when it comes to payment, that is a different thing altogether. I never received a cent from him for anything I wrote, and when I wanted a few copies of the papers containing my stuff I had to pay for them at the usual rate."
"And they didn't send you any complimentary copies?" Mr. Nairn asked in surprise.
"Not one. They never seemed to think about it."
"But you should have protested, Bob," Mrs. Nairn declared. "You should have demanded payment."
"I have been too easy, I guess. But I got after Mr. Rockbridge yesterday, and we had a heart-to-heart talk. I told him I was leaving for the woods, and suggested that I should write several articles for his paper, and demanded so much for each. He thought I had taken leave of my senses, and told me so in words that I would not like to repeat here. He said there is nothing thrilling enough in this province to make good copy, and advised me to go abroad. I at once bet him the price I had asked for my articles that I could find an abundance of material close at home thrilling enough to satisfy him. He was so sure of his ground that he accepted at once. So here I am ready to begin, and I want you two to help me."
"Where are you going to get your thrilling material?" Mr. Nairn asked.
"Right here in this parish, of course. I see you are amused, but you will be greatly surprised later."
"There's nothing of special interest here, Bob, for your purpose. You should go somewhere else, to the north or the west, for instance."
"That is where so many people make a mistake, Andy. Home things are so commonplace that there seems to be little really worth while. Now, what have you in Glengrow that is known and yet unknown?"
"What do you mean?"
"Isn't there some place, house or incident that people have talked about for years, and yet know very little about it? Think of the old cellar holes. What stories they might tell if they could only speak, of homes once there, tragedy and happiness. Then, there must be old buildings standing in desolate places. What tales they might reveal. I did hear of one in this parish, called 'Bullet House.' There must be some reason for such a strange name. Do you know anything about it?"
He looked first at the clergyman and then at his sister, as if expecting them to give him some valuable information. But they knew nothing.
"That is generally the way," he declared. "And yet that old building is standing there by the lake of a similar name. Who built it? And why is it called 'Bullet House?' I hope to find out. I have been told that it is owned by an old man, Si Acres. He may be able to tell me something. Do you know him?"
"We know him and don't know him," Mrs. Nairn replied. "Isn't that so, Andrew?"
"We know him as a brute of a man. He put a fifty-cent piece into the offertory plate last night, and came this morning to get it back. Did you ever hear of such a thing?"
"But why did he do that, Andy? What lies back of such an action?"
"Meanness, and a hatred to the Church."
"Are you sure? I should like to know more about that man. The history of his life may prove of considerable value. What do the neighbors think of him?"
"They are afraid of him, and leave him alone so far as they can."
"Do you know anything about his past life?"
"I cannot say for sure. Peter Pendle told me once that Mr. Acres built ships, or went to sea. I have forgotten which."
"You never told me that, Andrew," his wife remarked. "That may explain his strange interest in the picture of grandfather's vessel."
"Ah, this is getting quite interesting," Robert replied. "We have now connected him with ship-building days, so that is something. What did he say about grandfather's ship, Nell?"
"Not much. When he first saw it, he was surprised, walked across the room and stood staring at it. He then asked me about it, and when I told him, he turned quickly around and looked at me with such a queer expression in his eyes. It seemed as if he wanted to say something, for his lips moved. But he hurried away without a word."
"You have overlooked what he said about Dana," Mr. Nairn reminded.
"What was that?" Robert quickly asked.
"I do not remember his exact words, but as he stood looking at the vessel he said that Dana alone could describe her, and seemed to be quoting something about the ship cutting through the water like a knife, and her sharp bows running up like the head of a greyhound. I do not know what he meant by Dana."
"Why, he must be the man who wrote Two Years Before the Mast, the best book in the English language about the sea and the life of sailors. So you don't know it?"
"No, I never heard of it."
"I suppose not. You like something with an ecclesiastical tone. But what you have told me is another incident which must not be overlooked. I wonder——."
He ceased abruptly and looked out over the fields. He listened as his sister told about the money Betty had given to Mr. Acres, and how he had stamped it into the dust. He remained silent for a while when she had finished. He then re-filled his pipe, lighted it, and gave a deep sigh of contentment.
"This is all very interesting, Nell. But where does Bullet House come in? Why did he get that place back there in the woods?"
"For lumbering purposes, I have been told," Mr. Nairn explained. "It was well wooded when he bought it, and it is said that he made a fortune out of the logs, although he has done nothing there during the last few years."
"Who owned the place before he bought it?"
"I never heard."
"Was it ever called by any other name?"
"I do not know."
"My, my! And you have been living here for a year and were never curious about that man!"
"I have had more important things to think about, Bob."
"No doubt you have, Andy. With Nell and these fine youngsters, as well as your parish duties you have had your mind and hands full. But I am free for several weeks, and with no family care, so I am going to see what I can find out about Bullet Lake and your strange neighbor, Si Acres."
