CHAPTER XIV--A BUSY EVENING
The nearest cut to the house where Mrs. Davis lived was along a sort ofa ravine, and Ralph pursued this route. It was the shortest, and it washere that the switch spur was to run up to Gasper Farrington's oldfactory.
Ralph was interested in this as a railroader. The work of grading hadalready commenced. It was not to be a very particular job, as theservice would be only occasional. The company was using old rails andsecond-hand ties.
There was a natural rock shelf on the north side of the ravine. Thisthe roadbed would follow. There were several sharp grades, but therewould be no heavy traffic. The entire factory output, which was in thefurniture line, would not exceed a carload a day.
Mrs. Davis' home stood back from the ravine about a hundred feet. Itwas some three hundred yards from the factory building. Between it andthe latter structure was a low two-story house, very old anddilapidated. Ralph wondered if this was the spot which Farrington hadsaid he would appropriate, law or no law, as the connecting link in hisright of way.
"Mr. Farrington may well look out for wrecks," soliloquized Ralph, as hepassed along the ravine. "The freight business from the factory is notworth enough for the company to put in a first-class roadbed. A poorone means danger. They will have to go slow on some of those meancurves and crooked grades, if they want to avoid trouble."
Ralph turned from the ravine as he caught the gleam of a light in thehouse he knew to be occupied by the mysterious Mrs. Davis.
It was a desolate place, and he felt sorry for anyone compelled to liveso remote from neighbors. He felt glad, however, that the lonely widowhad been so fortunate as to find a friend in his mother.
Mrs. Davis had proven her honesty by wishing to repay him the ten-dollarloan. Ralph in a way counted that evening on some intimation concerningthe twenty thousand dollars railroad bonds. He was naturally wrought upand anxious over this particular phase of the situation.
The house did not front on the ravine. In approaching it, Ralph came upto its side first. The light that had guided him was in a middle room.Its window was open and the shade was lowered, but the breeze blew itback every little while.
It was a bright moonlight night. Ralph could make out the house and itssurroundings as plain as day. As he walked beside a hedge of highalders, he paused with a start.
Someone stood directly beside the open window where the light was. Thehouse shadowed him, but even at a distance Ralph could see that thelurker was a boy about his own height.
This person stood with his face to the window. Every time the breezemoved the curtain, he bobbed about actively. He craned his neck, andmade all kinds of efforts to look into the room.
"Why," said Ralph indignantly, "it is someone spying!"
The breeze freshening, the curtain was just then blown on a forty-fivedegree slant. A perfectly plain view of the room and its inmates wasmomentarily shown.
Even at a distance Ralph could make out Mrs. Davis propped up in a chairwith pillows, and his mother seated near by.
The lurker at the window was taking a good clear look. He suddenlywhipped a card out of his pocket. He glanced at it quickly, then insidethe room again. The breeze let down, and the curtain dropped plumb oncemore.
Ralph made an impetuous run for the window. He came up to the lurker,grabbed his arm, and still at full momentum ran him twenty feet alongfrom the window. He did not wish to startle the inmates of the house.The astonished boy he had seized Ralph landed against the side of asummerhouse. He never let go of him. His prisoner wriggled in hisgrasp.
"Hey, what's this?" he began.
"Who are you and what are you up to?" challenged Ralph sharply. "What!"he cried, loosening his hold in stupefaction. "Van--Van Sherwin!"
"Hello!" muttered his companion, now faced squarely about, and staringin turn. "It is you, Fairbanks? Well, that's natural, seeing yourmother is here, but you took me off my feet so sudden. Shake. Youdon't seem glad to see me one bit, although it's an age since I met youlast. How goes it?"
Ralph shook the hand affectionately extended. It was not the heartygreeting, however, he usually awarded to this his warmest boy friend.Ralph looked grave, uncertain, and disappointed.
Of all the chums he had ever known, Van Sherwin had come into his lifein a way that had appealed strongly to every friendly sentiment.Deprived of reason temporarily through a blow from a baseball, andpractically adopted by the Fairbanks family, Van's gentle, lovable wayshad charmed them. When he recovered his reason and was the means ofintroducing Ralph to Farwell Gibson, Van was cherished like a brother byRalph.
Less than two weeks previous Van had gone back to the wilderness stretchbeyond Springfield, where Gibson was keeping his railroad cut-offcharter alive by grading the roadbed so much each day, as required bylaw.
Through Gibson Ralph had got the information that enabled them to proveGasper Farrington's mortgage on their home a fraud. Naturally he feltthankful to the queer old hermit who was working out an idea amidCrusoe-like solitude.
As to Van,--mother and son made him a daily topic of conversation. Theyhad longed for a visit from the strange, wild lad who had unconsciouslybrought so much good into their lives.
Now Van had appeared, yet a vague distrust and disappointment chilledthe warmth of Ralph's reception. Van had always been frank,open-minded, aboveboard. Ralph had just discovered him apparentlyengaged in eavesdropping.
Thinking all this over, Ralph stood grim and silent as a statue for thespace of nearly two minutes.
"Hey!" challenged Van suddenly, giving his arm a vigorous shake. "Areyou dreaming, Ralph?"
Ralph roused himself. He determined to clear the situation, if it couldbe cleared.
"Van," he said definitely, "what were you doing at that window?"
"Why, didn't you see--looking in."
"I know you was. In other words, spying. Oh, Van--spying on mymother!"
Van Sherwin's eyes flashed. In a trice he had whipped off his coat. Hisfists doubled up. He advanced on Ralph, his voice shaking with an angrysob.
"Take that back, Ralph Fairbanks!" he cried. "Do it quick, or you'vegot to lick me. Me spy on your mother? Why, she's pretty near mymother, too--the only one I ever remember."
"But I saw you lurking at that window," said Ralph, a good deal takenaback by Van's violent demonstration.
"Lurking, eh?" repeated Van sarcastically. "I'm a lurker, am I? And aspy? Why don't you call me a bravo--and a brigand? Humph--you chump!"
The impulsive fellow shrugged his shoulders in such a pitying, indulgentway that Ralph was fairly nettled.
"I won't fight you," declared Van, putting on his coat again. "Youthink so much of your mother that I'll forgive you. But I think a lotof her, too, as you well know, and, knowing it, you ought to havethought twice before you--yes, imputed to me any action that could doher any harm."
"You're right, Van," said Ralph, grasping both hands of his eccentricchum, heartily enough this time. "I am so strung up, though, withthings happening, and so much suspicion and mystery in the air, that I'mjumping to all kinds of conclusions helter-skelter. I hate mystery, youknow."
"Sit down," said Van, moving around to the door of the dismantledsummerhouse, and dropping to its worm-eaten seat. "I want to tell yousomething. I wasn't looking in that window expecting to see yourmother."
"No?"
"Not at all."
"Then it must have been Mrs. Davis, the woman who lives there."
"Is that her name?" inquired Van, with a shrewd smile.
"She says it is."
"You know her, then? Well, I don't, Ralph. Never saw her before. Yet,I've traveled a long distance to get a look at her. See here--can youmake it out?"
Van took from his pocket the card Ralph had seen him consult at thewindow. Ralph held it up to the moonlight.
It was an old-fashioned card photograph. Judging from its yellow, fadedappearance, it seemed taken in another generation. It prese
nted theface of a woman of about thirty years of age.
Ralph scanned this with a certain token of recognition.
"This picture resembles Mrs. Davis," he said.
"Think so?" asked Van. "I know it does. It's meant for the lady inthat room yonder--when she was younger, though."
"How do you come by it?" inquired Ralph.
"It's a secret for the present, but I don't mind telling you. Afriend--a long distance away--asked me to locate the original of thatpicture. Somehow he got a clew to the fact that she was living in thisdistrict."
"Yes, she came to Stanley Junction recently."
"Anyhow, I followed out directions," narrated Van. "I've done what Icame for. The woman lives in that house yonder. I must go back andinform my friend."
"Not right away. Mother will want to see you, Van."
Van shook his head resolutely.
"I'll be back again soon, Ralph," he promised. "I wish I could tell youmore, but it's not my business."
"That's all right, Van. I don't want to pry into your secrets."
Van restored the picture to his pocket. He sighed with a glance at thehouse, as if it would indeed be a pleasure to have a chat with hisadopted mother, Mrs. Fairbanks.
"Oh, Ralph!" he said suddenly, checking himself as he was about to moveaway--"have you ever heard anything more about those twenty thousanddollars railroad bonds?"
"Have I?" spoke Ralph animately; "I seem to be hearing about them everystep I take, lately!"
"Is that so?"
"Yes, but always in a vague, unsatisfactory way. What made you ask thatquestion, Van?" inquired Ralph, with a keen glance at his companion.
"Oh, nothing," declared Van carelessly. "I was just thinking, that'sall. You see, Mr. Gibson is a rare, good fellow."
"He did me some rare, good service--I know that," said Ralph warmly.
"Well, he's pegging away at that railroad of his, wasting valuable time.He don't dare to leave it, because he might vi--vi--bother the word--oh,yes! vitiate his legal rights. He told me, though, that if he could getsomeone to put up a few thousand dollars so he could hire help, he wouldgo to some big city and interest capital and rush the road through."
"I will bear that in mind," said Ralph thoughtfully. "I believe he hasthe nucleus of a big speculation. There are rich men in StanleyJunction who might be induced to help him."
"Suppose you got those twenty thousand dollars bonds, Ralph," said Vansuddenly. "Would you be inclined to invest?"
"I would feel it a duty, Van," responded Ralph promptly. "I believe mymother would, too. You will remember that if it was not for Mr. Gibson,we would probably be without a home to-day."
"You're a good fellow, Ralph Fairbanks!" cried Van, slapping his chumheartily on the shoulder. "I knew you'd say that. And say--I guessyou're going to hear something about those bonds, soon."
"The air seems full of those bonds!" half smiled Ralph. "I wishsomething besides shadows would materialize, though."
Ralph felt that Van was keeping something back--certainly about theperson so interested in the mysterious Mrs. Davis, possibly in referenceto the railroad bonds, as well.
Before he could express himself further, Van grabbed his sleeve andpulled him into the shelter of the summerhouse with a quick warning:
"S-sh!"
"What is it, Van?" inquired Ralph in surprise.
"Speak low, look sharp!" whispered Van, pointing through the intersticesof the trellis in the direction of the house. "You hate mystery, yousay. Then how does that strike you?"
"Why," exclaimed Ralph, after a steadfast glance in the directionindicated--"it is Gasper Farrington!"
Ralph in the Switch Tower; Or, Clearing the Track Page 14
