CHAPTER IX--ROSES--BY ANOTHER NAME
But locatin' him wa'n't such an easy matter. All we knew was he livedsomewheres in Wampaquoit, and Wampaquoit is ten miles from nowhere, inthe woods up around Cohasset Narrows. I got off the train at the Narrowsdepot, and, after considerable cruisin' and bargainin', I hired a horseand buggy, and started to drive over. I lost my way and got onto a woodroad. Don't ask me about that road. I don't want to talk about it. I'dbeen on salt water for a good many years, and I'd seen some rough goin',but rockin' and bouncin' over that wood road come nigher to makin' meseasick than any of my Grand Banks trips. Narrow! And grown over! Myland! I had to stoop to keep from bein' scraped off the seat; and,whenever I'd straighten up to ease my back, a pine branch would fetch mea slap in the face that you could hear half a mile.
As for my language, you could hear that _two_ miles. That road ruined mymoral reputation, I'm afraid. They had a revival meetin' in the Narrowsmeetin'-house the follerin' week, but whether 'twas on my account or notI don't know.
However, I made port after a spell--that is, I run afoul of a house andlot in a clearin' sort of; and I asked a black-lookin' male critter, whowas asleep under a tree, how to get to Wampaquoit. He riz upon oneelbow, brushed the mosquitoes away from his mouth, and made answer that'twas Wampaquoit I was in.
"But the town?" says I. "Where's the town?"
Well, it appeared that this was the town, or part of it. The rest wasscattered along through the next three or four miles of wilderness.Where was the center? Oh, there wa'n't any. There was a schoolhouse anda meetin'-house, and a blacksmith's, and such, on the main road up apiece, that was all.
"But where do the Injuns live?" I wanted to know. "The knittin' women,the Lamp Mat Trust--where does it--she--they, I mean, live?"
He couldn't seem to make much out of this; and by and by he went intothe house and fetched out his wife. She was about as black as he was;and I cal'lated they was a Portygee family; but, no, lo and behold you,it turned out they was Injuns themselves! But they never heard ofanybody named Rose, nor of anybody that knit centerpieces, nor of an"antique," nor anything. I give it up pretty soon, for my temper wasbeginnin' to heat up the surroundin' air, and the mosquitoes seemed tothink I was "Old Home Week," and come for miles around and brought theirrelations. I give up and drove away over a fairly decent road this time,till I found another house. But this was just the same; Injuns inplenty--'most everybody was part Injun--but nobody had heard of ourspecial Mohican nor of an "antique." And, which was queerer still, theynever heard of anybody around that done knittin' or crochetin' or lacemakin', or had sold any, if they did do it. And they didn't any of 'emtalk story-book Injun dialect, same as Uncas did. They used pretty fairUnited States.
Well, to bile this yarn of mine down, I rode through those woods andaround the settlement most of that afternoon. Then I was ready to giveup, and so was my old livery-stable horse. He'd gone dead lame, and'twould have been a sin and a shame to make him walk a step farther. Itook him to the blacksmith's shop, and left him there. I poundedmosquitoes, and asked the blacksmith some questions, and he pounded ironand wanted to ask me a million; but neither of us got a heap ofsatisfaction out of the duet.
Two things seemed to be sure and sartin. One was that Solomon UncasRose, the "child of the forest" and chief of the tattin' tribe, wasmistook when he give Wampaquoit as his home town; and t'other that, muchas I wanted to, I couldn't get out of that town until evenin'. My horsewa'n't fit to travel, and I couldn't hire another, not until after theblacksmith had had his supper. Then he'd hitch up and drive me back tothe Narrows.
But luck was with me for once. Up the road came bumpin' a nice-lookin'mare and runabout wagon, with a pleasant-faced, gray-haired man on theseat. The mare pulled up at the blacksmith's house, and the man got downand went inside.
"Who's that?" says I. "And what's he done to be sentenced to thisplace?"
"Doctor," says the blacksmith, with a grunt--he was one-quarter Injun,too. "Comes from West Ostable. My wife's sick."
"I sympathize with her," says I. "I'm sick, too--homesick. Maybe thisdoctor'll help me out. What I need is a change of scene; and I need itbad."
So, when the doctor come out of the house, I hailed him, and asked himif he'd do a kindness to a shipwrecked mariner stranded on a lee shore.
"Why, what's the matter?" says he, laughin'.
"Matter enough," I told him. "I want to go home. Besides, a merciful manis merciful to the beasts; and if I stay here much longer thesemosquitoes'll die of rush of my blood to their heads. I understand youcome from West Ostable, Doctor; but if 'twas Jericho 'twould be all thesame. I want you to let me ride there with you. And you can chargeanything you want to."
That doctor was a fine feller. He laughed some more, and told me to jumpright in. Said he'd got to see one more patient on his way back; but, ifI didn't mind that stop, he'd be glad of my company. So I told theblacksmith to keep my horse and buggy overnight, and when I got to WestOstable I'd telephone for the livery folks to send for 'em. Then I gotinto the doctor's runabout, and off we drove.
We did consider'ble talkin' durin' the drive; but 'twas all general, andnothin' definite on my part. 'Course, he was curious to know what I wasdoin' 'way over there; but I said I come on business, and let it go atthat. I was beginnin' to have some suspicions, and I cal'lated not to belaughed at if I could help it. So we drove and drove; and, by and by,when I judged we must be pretty nigh to West Ostable, he turned thehorse into a side road, and brought him to anchor alongside of an oldramshackle house, with a tumble-down barn and out-buildin's astern ofit.
"Now, Cap'n," he says, "I'll have to ask you to wait a few minutes whileI see that last patient of mine. 'Twon't take long."
"Patient?" says I. "Good land! Does anybody _live_ in this fag end ofnothin'ness?"
"Yes," says he. "'Twas empty for years, but now a couple of fellers livehere all by themselves. Foreigners of some kind they are. Been here fora month or more. One of 'em let a packin' case fall on his foot, and--"
"I sympathize with him," says I. "The same thing happened to me a spellago. But a packin' case! Cranberry crate, you mean, I guess."
"Maybe so," he says. "I didn't ask. But 'twas somethin' heavy, anyhow.Nobody seems to know much about these chaps or what they do. Well, be ascomfort'ble as you can. I'll be back soon."
He took his medicine satchel and went into the house. Soon's he was outof sight, I climbed out of the buggy and started explorin'. I wascurious.
I wandered around back of the house. Such a slapjack place you never seein your life! Windows plugged with papers and old rags, shingles off theroof, chimneys shy of bricks--'twas a miracle it didn't blow down longago. Whoever the tenants was, they was only temporary, I judged, andwillin' to take chances.
From somewheres out in the barn I heard a scratchin' kind of noise, andI headed for there. The big door was open a little ways, and I squeezedthrough. 'Twas pretty dark, and I couldn't see much for a minute; butsoon as my eyes got used to the gloominess, I saw lots of things. Thatbarn was half filled with boxes and crates, some empty and some not.There was a horse in the stall--an old white horse--and standin' in themiddle of the floor was a wagon heaped with things, and covered with apiece of tarpaulin. I lifted the tarpaulin. Underneath it was a spinnin'wheel, an old-fashioned table, two chairs, and a basket. There wasembroidery and fancywork in the basket.
Then I took a few soundin's among the full boxes and crates standin'round. I didn't do much of this, 'cause the scratchin' noise kept up ina room at the back of the barn, and I wa'n't anxious to disturb thescratcher, whoever he was. But I saw a plenty. There was enough bran-new"antiques" and "genuine" Injun knittin' work in them crates and boxes tostock the "Colonial Exchange" for six weeks, even with better trade thanwe'd had.
I'd seen all I wanted to in _that_ room, so I tiptoed into the other. Afeller was in there, standin' back to me, and hard at work. He wassandpaperin' the polish off a mahogany sewin' table; the kind Mrs. BurkeSmythe called a "
find," and had in her best front parlor as an exampleof what our great-granddads used to make, and we wa'n't capable of inthese cheap and shoddy days. There was another "find" on the floor sideof him, a chair layin' on its side. Pasted on the under side of the seatwas a paper label with "Grand Rivers Furniture Manufacturing Company"printed on it. I judged that the hand of Time hadn't got to work on thatchair yet, but it would as soon as it had antiqued the table.
I watched the mellowin' influence gettin' in its licks--much as twentyyear passed over that table in the three minutes I stood there--and thenI spoke.
"Hello, shipmate!" says I. "You're busy, ain't you?"
He jumped as if I'd stuck a sail needle in him, the table tipped overwith a bang, and he swung around and faced me. And I'm blessed if hewa'n't that Armenian critter; the one that the clerk had talked to--the"last survivor of the peddlin' crew."
I was expectin' 'most anything to happen, and I was kind of hopin' itwould. My fists sort of shut of themselves. But it didn't happen. I knewthe feller; but, as luck would have it, he didn't recognize me. Heswallered hard a couple of times, and then he says, pretty average ugly:
"Vat d'ye want?"
"Oh, nothin'," says I. "I just drove over with the doctor, and I cruised'round the premises a little, that's all. You must do a good businesshere. Make this stuff yourself?"
"No," he snapped.
I could see that he was dyin' to chuck me out, and didn't dast to. Ipicked up the chair and looked at it.
"Humph!" I says. "Grand Rivers Company, hey? Buy of them, do you?"
"Yes," says he.
"And this?" I took a centerpiece out of one of the boxes. "This comefrom Grand Rivers, too?"
"No," says he. "Boston. Is dere anything else you vant to know?"
"Guess not. You the sick man?"
"No; mine brudder."
"Your brother, hey? Let's see. I wonder if I don't know him. Kind oftall and thin, ain't he?"
He sniffed contemptuous.
"No," says he, "he's short and fat."
"Beg your pardon," says I, "guess I was mistook. Well, I must be gettin'back to the buggy; the doctor's prob'ly waitin' for me. Good day,mister."
He never said good-by; but I saw him watchin' me all the way to thegate. I climbed into the buggy, and set there till he went back into thebarn; then I got down and hurried to the front of the house. The doorwa'n't fastened, and I went in. I met the doctor in the hall. He wassome surprised to see me there.
"Hello, Doc!" says I. "Where's your patient?"
"In there," says he, pointin' to the door astern of him. "But--"
"How's he gettin' along?" I wanted to know.
"Why, he's better," he says. "He's practically all right. I wanted himto get up and walk, but he wouldn't."
"Wouldn't, hey?" says I. "Humph! Well, maybe he wouldn't walk for you;but I'll bet _I_ can make him _fly_."
Before he could stop me, I flung that door open and walked into thatroom. The sufferer from fallin' packin' boxes was settin' in one chairwith his foot in another. I drew off, and slapped him on the shoulderhard as I could.
"Hello, Sol Uncas Mohicans!" I sung out. "How's genuine antique lampmats these days?"
For about two seconds he just set there and looked at me, set andglared, with his mouth open. Then he let out a scream like a scaredwoman, jumped out of that chair, and made for the kitchen door, lamefoot and all. I headed him off, and he turned and set sail for the oneI'd come in at. He reached the front hall just ahead of me; but my bootcaught him at the top step and helped him _some_. He never stopped atthe gate, but went head-first into the woods whoopin' anthems.
The sandpaperin' chap came runnin' out of the barn, and I took afterhim; but he didn't wait to see what I had to say. He dove for the woodson his side. We had the premises to ourselves, and I went back andpicked up the doctor, who'd been upset by the "child of the forest" onhis way to the ancestral tall timber.
"What--what--what?" gasps the medical man. "For Heaven sakes! Why, hewouldn't _try_ to walk when I asked him to. _How_ did you do that?"
"Easy enough," says I. "'Twas an old-fashioned treatment, but ithelps--in some cases. Just layin' on of hands, that's all. Now, Doc,afore you ask another question, let me ask you one. Ain't that critter'sname Rose?"
He was consider'ble shook, but he managed to grin a little.
"No," says he, "but you've guessed pretty near it."
Then he told me what the name was.
I rode back to West Ostable with that doctor and took the evenin' trainhome. Jim Henry was waitin' for me on the store platform when I got outof the depot wagon.
"Well?" he wanted to know. "Did you find him?"
"Humph!" says I. "I did find the lost tribes, a couple of members of'em, anyway."
"What do you mean by that?" says he.
"Come somewheres where 'tain't so public and I'll tell you."
So we went back into the back room and I told him my yarn. He listened,with his mouth open, gettin' madder and madder all the time.
"Now," says I, endin' up, "the way I look at it is this. I've beenthinkin' it out on the cars and I cal'late we'll have to do this way. Weain't crooks--that is, we didn't mean to be--and now we know all our'antiques' are frauds and our 'Injun curios' made up to Boston, we musteither shut up the 'Exchange' or go back to home products. We'll have tokeep mum about those we have sold, because most of 'em have been cartedout of town and we don't know where to locate the buyers. But, for mypart, bein' average honest and meanin' to be square, I feel mighty bad.What do you say?"
He said enough. He felt as bad as I did about stickin' our customers,but what seemed to cut him the most was that somebody had got ahead ofhim in business.
"Think of it!" says he. "Skipper, we're gold-bricked! Cheated! Faked!Done! Think of it! If I could only get my hands on that--"
"Hold on a minute," says I. "Better think the whole of it while you'reabout it. We set out to drive those peddlers out of what was _their_trade. If they was smart enough to turn the tables and make a goodprofit out of sellin' us the stuff, I don't know as I blame 'em much. Itwas just tit for tat--or so it seems to me now that I've cooled off."
"Maybe so," says he; "but it hurts my pride just the same. James HenryJacobs, doctor of sick businesses, beat by a couple of peddlers fromArmenia!"
"Hold on again," I says. "I ain't told you their real name yet."
"Their name?" he says. "I know it already. It's Rose."
"Not accordin' to that West Ostable doctor, it ain't. The name they give_him_ was Rosenstein."
He looked at me for a spell without speakin'. Then he smiled, heaved along breath, and reached over and shook my hand.
"Whew!" says he. "Skipper, I feel better. Richard's himself again. To bebeat in a business deal by Roses is one thing--but by Rosensteins isanother. You can't beat the Rosensteins in business."
"Not in the secondhand and by-productin' business you can't," says I."Them lines belong to 'em. We hadn't any right to butt in."
And we both laughed, good and hearty.
"But," says I, after a little, "what'll we do with that curio room,anyway? Give it up?"
"Not much!" says he, emphatic. "I guess we'll have to give up theantiques; but we've got the winter ahead of us, Skipper, and the OstableCounty embroidery crop flourishes best in cold weather. We'll start theold ladies knittin' again and have a fairly good-sized stock when theautos commence runnin' once more. Give up the Colonial Pilgrim Mothers?I should say not!"
"All right," I says, dubious. "You may be right, Jim; you generally are.But I'm a little scary of this by-product game. It'll get us intoserious trouble, I'm afraid, some day. It's easier to steer one bigcraft, than 'tis to maneuver a fleet of little ones."
He sniffed, scornful. "As I understand it, Cap'n Zeb," he says, "thisbusiness of yours was in a pretty feeble condition when you called me into prescribe."
"No doubt of that, Jim, but--"
"Yes. And it's a healthy, growin' child now."
; "Yes. It sartin is."
"Then, if I was you, I'd take my medicine and be thankful. Time enoughto complain when you commence to go into another decline. Ain't thatso?"
I didn't answer.
"Isn't it so?" he asked again.
"Maybe," I said; "but it may be a fatal disease next time; and it'sbetter to keep well than to be cured--and a lot cheaper."
He said I was a reg'lar bullfrog for croakin', and hinted that I was inthe back row of the primer class so fur's business instinct went. I hada feelin' that he was right, but I had another feelin' that _I_ wasright, too. However, there was nothin' to do but keep quiet and wait thenext development. Afore Christmas the development landed with both feet.
I'd heard the news twice already that mornin'. Fust at the Poquit Housebreakfast table, where 'twas served along with the chopped hay cerealand warmed over and picked to pieces, as you might say, all through theb'iled eggs and spider-bread, plumb down to the doughnuts and imitationcoffee. Then I'd no sooner got outdoor than Solon Saunders sighted me,and he 'bout ship and beat acrost the road like a porgie-boat bearin'down on a school of fish. He was so excited that he couldn't wait to getalongside, but commenced heavin' overboard his cargo of informationwhile he was in mid-channel.
"Did you hear about the Higgins Place bein' rented, Cap'n Snow?" he sungout. "It's been took for next summer and--"
"Yes, yes, I heard it," says I. "Fine seasonable weather we're havin'these days. Don't see any signs of snow yet, do you?"
If he'd been skipper of a pleasure boat with a picnic party aboard hecouldn't have paid less attention to my weather signals.
"It's been hired for an eatin'-house," he says, puffin' and out ofbreath. "A man by the name of Fred from Buffalo, has hired it, and--"
"Fred, hey?" I interrupted. "Humph! 'Cordin' to the proclamations _I_heard he cruises under the name of George--Eben George--and he hailsfrom Bangor."
"No, no!" he says, emphatic. "His name's Edgar Fred and it's Buffalo hecomes from. Henry Williams told me and he got it from his wife's aunt,Mrs. Debby Baker, and her cousin by marriage told her. She is aKnowles--the cousin is--married one of the Denboro Knowleses--and _she_got it from Peleg Kendrick's nephew whose stepmother is related to thewoman that used to do old Judge Higgins's cookin' when he was alive. Soit come straight, you see."
"Yes," I says, "about as straight as the eel went through the snarledfish net. All right. I don't care. How's your rheumatiz gettin' on,Solon?"
I thought that would fetch him, but it didn't. Gen'rally speakin', he'dtalk for an hour about his rheumatiz and never skip an ache; but now hewas too much interested in the Higgins Place even to catalogue hissymptoms.
"It's some better," he says, "since I tried the Electric Ointment out ofthe newspaper. But, Cap'n Zeb, did you know that this Fred man was goin'to start a swell dinin'-room for automobile folks? He is. He's had allkinds of experience in them lines. He's goin' to have foreign help and achief Frenchman to do the cookin' and--and I don't know what all."
"I guess that's right," says I. "Well, I don't know what all, either,and I ain't goin' to worry. We'll see what we shall see, as the blindfeller said. Hello! there's the minister over there and I'll bet heain't heard a word about it."
That done the trick. Away he put, all sail set, to give the minister theearache, and I went on down to the store. And there was Jacobs talkin'to a man I'd never seen afore and both of 'em so interested theyscarcely noticed me when I come in.
He was a kind of ordinary-lookin' feller at fust sight, the strangerwas, sort of a cross between a parson and a circus agent, judgin' by hisget-up. Pretty thin, with black hair and a black beard, and dressed allin black except his vest, which was thunder-storm plaid. I'd havecal'lated he was in mournin' if it hadn't been for that vest. As 'twashe looked like a hearse with a brass band aboard. Both him and Jacobswas smokin' cigars, the best ten-centers we carried in stock.
"Mornin'," says I, passin' by 'em. Jim Henry looked up and saw me.
"Ah, Skipper," says he; "glad to see you. Come here. I want to make youacquainted with Mr. Edwin Frank, who is intendin' to locate here inOstable. Mr. Frank, shake hands with my partner, Cap'n Zebulon Snow."
We shook, the band wagon hearse and me, and I felt as if I was backaboard the old _Fair Breeze_, handlin' cold fish. Jim Henry went rightalong explainin' matters.
"Mr. Frank," he says, "has had a long experience in the restaurant andhotel line and he believes there is an openin' for a first-classroad-house in this town. He has leased the--"
Then I understood. "Why, yes, yes!" I interrupted. "I know now. You'reMr. Eben Edgar Fred George from Buffalo and Bangor, ain't you?"
Then _they_ didn't understand. When I explained about the boardin'-housetalk and Solon Saunders' "straight" news, Jacobs laughed fit to kill andeven Mr. Fred George Frank pumped up a smile. But his pumps was out ofgear, or somethin', for the smile looked more like a crack in an icechest than anything human. However, he said he was glad to see me and Istrained the truth enough to say I was glad to meet him.
"So you've hired the Higgins Place, Mr. Frank," I went on. "Well, well!And you're goin' to make a hotel of it. If old Judge Higgins don't turnover in his grave at that, he's fast moored, that's all."
I meant what I said, almost. Judge Higgins, in his day, had been one ofthe big-bugs of the town and his place on the hill was one of the beston the main road. It set 'way back from the street and the view fromunder the two big silver-leaf trees by the front door took in allcreation and part of Ostable Neck, as the sayin' is. The Judge had beendead most eight year now, and, bein' a three times widower without chicknor child, the estate was all tied up amongst the heirs of the threewives and was fast tumblin' to pieces. It couldn't be sold, on accountof the row between the owners, but it had been let once or twice tosummer folks. To turn it into a tavern was pretty nigh the finalcome-down, seemed to me.
But Jim Henry Jacobs wa'n't worryin' about come-downs. He never let deaddignity interfere with live business. He didn't shed a tear over the oldplace, or lay a wreath on Judge Higgins's tomb. No, sir! he got down tothe keelson of things in a jiffy.
"Skipper," he says, sweet and plausible as a dose of sugaredsoothin'-syrup. "Skipper," he says, "Mr. Frank's proposition is to open,not a hotel exactly, but a first-class, up-to-date road-house andrestaurant. As progressive citizens of Ostable, as business men,wide-awake to the town's welfare, that ought to interest you and me, ongeneral principles, hadn't it?"
I judged that this was only Genesis, and that Revelation would comelater, so I nodded and said I cal'lated that it had--on generalprinciples.
"You bet!" he goes on. "It does interest us. Speakin' personally, I'velong felt that there was a place in Ostable for a dinin'-room, run tobag--to attract, I mean--the wealthy, the well-to-do transient trade.Why, just think of it!" he says, warmin' up, "it's winter now. By May orJune there'll be a steady string of autos runnin' along this road here,every one of 'em solid full of city people and all hungry. Now, it's ashame to let those good things--I mean hungry gents and ladies, go bywithout givin' 'em what they want. If I hadn't had so many things on mymind, if the Ostable Store's large and growin' business hadn't took myattention exclusive, I should have ventured a flyer in that directionmyself. But never mind that; Mr. Frank here has got ahead of me and thejob's in better hands. Mr. Frank is right up to the minute; he's abreastof the times and he--by the way, Mr. Frank, perhaps you wouldn't mindtellin' my partner here somethin' about your plans. Just give him theline of talk you've been givin' me, say."
Mr. Frank didn't mind. He had the line over in a minute and if I'd beencal'latin' that he was a frosty specimen with the water in histalk-b'iler froze, I got rid of the notion in a hurry. He smiled,polite, and begun slow and deliberate, but pretty soon he was runnin'twenty knots an hour. He told about his experience in the eatin'-houseline--he'd been everything from hotel manager to club steward--and abouthow successful he'd been and how big the profits was, and what hiscustomers said about him, and so on. A
fore a body had a chance to thinkthis over--or to digest it, long's we're talkin' about eatin'--he wasunder full steam through Ostable with the Higgins Place loaded to theguards and beatin' all entries two mile to the lap. He'd never seen abetter openin'; his experience backed his judgment in callin' it theideal location and opportunity, and the like of that. He talked histhroat dry and wound up, husky but hurrahin', with somethin' like this:
"Cap'n Snow," he says, "you and Mr. Jacobs must understand that I knowwhat I'm talkin' about. This enterprise of mine will be the very highestclass. French chef, French waiters, all the delicacies and game inseason. A country Delmonico's, that's the dope--ahem! I mean that is thereputation this establishment of ours will have; yes."
I judged that the "dope" had slipped out unexpected and that the miscuejarred him a little mite, for he colored up and wiped his forehead witha red and yellow bordered handkerchief. I was jarred, too, but not bythat.
"Establishment of _ours_?" I says, slow. "You mean yours, of course."
He was goin' to answer, but Jim Henry got ahead of him.
"Sure! of course, Skipper," he says. "That's all right. There!" he wenton, gettin' up and takin' me by the arm. "Mr. Frank's got to be trottin'along and we mustn't detain him. So long, Mr. Frank. My partner and Iwill have some conversation and we'll meet again. Drop in any time. Goodday."
I hadn't noticed any signs of Frank's impatience to trot along, but hetook the hint all right and got up to go. He said good-by and I wasturnin' away, when I see Jim Henry wink at him when they thought Iwa'n't lookin'. I was suspicious afore; that wink made me uneasy as aspring pullet tied to the choppin'-block.
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