CHAPTER XX
MR. JONES MAKES A CALL
When morning dawned a new face was put upon the matter. Steps werediscovered leading from the scene of the murder along the beach and upthe cliff. There were also discovered signs of a struggle in the cave,and it became clear that there had been a conflict and that one of thetwo concerned had escaped.
Of course it could not have been the hermit, for he was now in custody.Moreover, a fisherman who had been out in his boat in the eveningremembered meeting the hermit rowing at about the time the murder musthave been committed.
These discoveries cleared the hermit, but the question arose:
"Who was this other man?" There was no difficulty in solving thisquestion. There were plenty who remembered the stranger who had spent apart of the previous evening in the barroom of the tavern, and hisevident curiosity as to the wealth of the hermit was also remembered.
The real state of the case was now pretty well understood. This strangerhad suddenly resolved to rob the hermit and had secretly found his wayto the cavern.
But how did he happen to find the fisherman there and what was theobject of the latter?
Then it was remembered that Trafton also had seemed much interested inthe supposed hoards of the hermit, and, when his own want of money wasconsidered, it was suspected that he, too, went on an errand similar tothe burglar.
But he was dead, and his neighbors, who knew that he must have yieldedto the force of a sudden and new temptation, did not care to speculateupon his object.
They were disposed to spare their old neighbor and charitably drop aveil over his attempted crime, which had brought upon him such fearfulretribution.
Of course the hermit was released from custody, and there was not aperson in the village who did not acquit him of all wrong except Mrs.Scott, who could not forgive him for proving her suspicions groundless.
"You may say what you will," she said perversely, "I know the man's aburglar, or a murderer, or something else bad."
"He couldn't have murdered John Trafton, for we traced the murderer'ssteps on the beach. There is no doubt it was that stranger we saw in thebarroom."
So said her husband.
"I don't care whether he murdered John Trafton or not," said Mrs. Scott."I'm sure he's murdered somebody, and I'm ready to take my Bible oath ofit."
"What makes you so prejudiced against the poor man? He hasn't done youany harm, Mrs. Scott."
"I don't like the airs he puts on. He looks at you jest as if you weredust beneath his feet. What right has he to look down upon honestpeople, I want to know?"
But Mrs. Scott did not succeed in creating a prejudice against thehermit, whose courageous and dignified bearing had impressed all whoobserved his manner in this trying crisis.
When the funeral was over the hermit called in the evening upon thewidow of John Trafton. It was the first he had ever made upon any of hisneighbors and it excited surprise.
Robert brought forward the rocking-chair and invited the visitorcordially to sit down.
"Mrs. Trafton," said the hermit, "I want to thank you and Robert for theconfidence you showed in me at a time when all others suspected me of aterrible deed. You were the ones most affected, yet you acquitted me inyour hearts."
"Just for a moment I suspected you when I saw you standing by the deadbody of my uncle," said Robert, "but it was only for a moment."
"I respect you for your fearless candor, my boy. You were justified inyour momentary suspicion."
"I am ashamed of it. You had been such a kind friend."
"It was only natural. And now, my friends, what are your plans? How willyou be able to maintain yourselves?"
"I don't think it will make much difference," began Roberthesitatingly.
"My husband did very little for our support," said Mrs. Trafton. "Notmore, certainly, than his own food amounted to. You know, sir, I thinkRobert must have told you the unfortunate habits of my poor husband. Hewas enslaved by drink, and he spent nearly all he earned in thebarroom."
"Yes, I knew what your husband's habits were," said the hermit gently."It is a great pity he could not have lived to change them."
"I am afraid he never would," said the widow.
"They had grown upon him from year to year, and he seemed to get weakerand weaker in purpose."
"I had a brother who was equally unfortunate," said the hermit. "Thereare few families who are wholly free from the evils of intemperance. Buthave you formed any plans?"
"I suppose we can get along as we have," answered Mrs. Trafton. "Withwhat you kindly pay Robert, and what he can pick up elsewhere, and thesewing I do, I think we can get along."
"Do you own this cottage?" inquired the hermit.
"Yes, sir."
"Then you will have no rent to pay."
"No, I don't know how we could do that."
The hermit looked thoughtful.
"I will see you again," he said as he rose to go.
On the whole, Mrs. Trafton and Robert were likely to get along as wellas before John Trafton's death. Robert could use his uncle's boat forfishing, selling what they did not require, while regularly every weektwo dollars came in from the hermit.
It was a great source of relief that no rent must be paid. Thefisherman's cabin and lot originally cost about five hundred dollars andthe household furniture was of little value. The taxes were small andcould easily be met. So there seemed nothing to prevent their living onin the same way as before.
Some time Robert hoped and expected to leave Cook's Harbor. He was asmart, enterprising, ambitious boy, and he felt that he would like amore stirring life in a larger place.
He was not ashamed of the fisherman's business, but he felt qualifiedfor something better. It did not escape his notice that most of hisneighbors were illiterate men, who had scarcely a thought beyond thesuccess of their fishing trips, and he had already entered so far intothe domain of study and books as to feel the charm of another world--thegreat world of knowledge--which lay spread out before him and beckonedhim onward. But he was not impatient.
"My duty at present," he reflected, "Is to stay in Cook's Harbor andtake care of my aunt. I am young and strong, and I don't mean that sheshall want for any comforts which I can get for her."
He soon learned, however, that there was one great mistake in hiscalculations.
Robert was sitting by the door reading, after his return from a fishingtrip, about a week after his uncle's funeral, when he heard the steps ofsome one approaching.
Looking up, he saw advancing toward their humble residence the stout,ponderous figure of Nahum Jones, the landlord of the village inn.
It was not often that Mr. Jones found his way to the beach. Usually hekept close to the tavern, unless he rode to some neighboring town.Therefore Robert was surprised to see him.
Nahum Jones nodded slightly, and, taking off his straw hat, wiped theperspiration from his forehead.
"Here, you, Bob," he said, "Is your aunt at home?"
"Yes, sir!" answered Robert, but not cordially, for he felt that Mr.Jones had been no friend of his uncle.
"Well, tell her I've come to have a talk with her, do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear," answered the boy coolly.
He rose from his chair and entered the house.
"Aunt Jane," he said, "here is Mr. Jones come to see you."
"What? The tavern keeper?" asked his aunt in great surprise.
"Yes, aunt."
"What can that man want of me?"
The question was answered, not by Robert but by Nahum Jones himself.
"I want to have a little talk with you, ma'am," said the burly landlord,entering without an invitation and seating himself unceremoniously.
"I will listen to what you have to say, Mr. Jones," said the widow, "butI will not pretend that I am glad to see you. You were an enemy to mypoor husband."
"I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Trafton. Did he ever tell you that Iwas his enemy?"
"No, but it was you wh
o sold him liquor and took the money which heshould have spent on his own family."
"All nonsense, ma'am. You women are the most unreasonable creatures. Ididn't ask him to drink."
"You tempted him to do it."
"I deny it!" said the landlord warmly. "I couldn't refuse to sell himwhat he asked for, could I? You must be a fool to talk so!" said thelandlord roughly.
"I'll trouble you to speak respectfully to my aunt, Mr. Jones," saidRobert with flashing eyes.
"Mind your own business, you young rascal!" said Nahum Jones, whosetemper was not of the best.
"I mean to," retorted Robert. "My business is to protect my aunt frombeing insulted."
"Wait till you're a little bigger, boy," said Jones with a sneer.
Robert involuntarily doubled up his fist and answered:
"I mean to protect her now."
"Mrs. Trafton," said Nahum Jones, highly irritated, "you'd bettersilence that young cub or I may kick him out of doors!"
"You appear to forget that you are not in your own house, Nahum Jones,"said the widow with dignity. "My nephew has acted perfectly right andonly spoke as he should."
"So you sustain him in his impudence, do you?" snarled Jones, showinghis teeth.
"If that is all you have come to say to me, Mr. Jones, you may as wellgo."
"By George, ma'am, you are mighty independent!"
"I am not dependent on the man who ruined my poor husband."
"No, but you're dependent on me!" exclaimed the landlord, pounding thefloor forcibly with his cane.
"Will you explain yourself, sir?"
"I will," said Mr. Jones emphatically. "You talk about my not being inmy own house, but it's just possible you are mistaken."
"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Trafton, startled.
"I mean this, that I hold a mortgage on this house for two hundreddollars, and that's as much as it will fetch at auction. What do you sayto that?"
Robert looked and felt as much troubled as his aunt. On his youngshoulders fell this new burden, and he was at an utter loss what couldbe done.
"I thought I'd shut you up, you young cub!" said the landlord, glancingmaliciously at Robert.
"You haven't shut me up!" retorted Robert with spirit.
"What have you got to say, hey?"
"That you ought to be ashamed to take all my uncle's earnings and thensteal his home. That's what I've got to say!"
"I've a great mind to give you a caning," said Mr. Jones in a rage.
"You'd better not!" said Robert.
He was as tall as the landlord, and though not as strong, considerablymore active, and he did not feel in the least frightened.
Nahum Jones was of a choleric disposition, and his face was purple withrage, but he hadn't yet said all he intended.
"I give you warning, Mrs. Trafton," he said, shaking his cane at ourhero, "that I'm going to foreclose this mortgage and turn you into thestreet. You've got yourself to thank, you and this young rascal. I camehere thinking I'd be easy with you, but I don't mean to stand yourinsulting talk. I'll give you four weeks to raise the money, and if youdon't do it, out you go, bag and baggage. Perhaps when you're in thepoorhouse you may be sorry you didn't treat me better."
"Oh, Robert, what shall we do?" asked the poor woman, her couragefailing as she reflected on the possibility that the landlord'sprediction might be fulfilled.
"Don't be alarmed, Aunt Jane; I'll take care of you," said Robert morecheerfully than he felt.
"Oh, you will, will you?" sneered Mr. Jones. "Anybody'd think to hearyou that you were worth a pile of money. If your aunt depends on you tokeep her out of the poorhouse, I would not give much for her chance."
"You won't have the satisfaction of seeing either of us there," saidRobert defiantly.
"You needn't expect my wife to give you any more sewing," said Mr.Jones, scowling at the widow.
"I don't think my aunt wants any, considering she hasn't been paid forthe last work she did," said Robert.
"What do you mean by that? I credited your uncle with twenty-five centson his score."
"Without my aunt's consent."
Mr. Jones was so incensed at the defiant mien of the boy that he rockedviolently to and fro--so violently that the chair, whose rockers wereshort, tipped over backward and the wrathful landlord rolledignominiously on the floor.
"Here's you hat, Mr. Jones," said Robert, smiling in spite of himself ashe picked it up and restored it to the mortified visitor.
"You'll hear from me!" roared the landlord furiously, aiming a blow atRobert and leaving the room precipitately. "You'll repent this day, seeif you don't!"
After he had left the room Robert and his aunt looked at each othergravely. They had made an enemy out of a man who could turn them out ofdoors.
The future looked far from bright.
Robert Coverdale's Struggle; Or, on the Wave of Success Page 20
