Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “I must thank you for carrying out my orders so intelligently,” began the millionaire. “Without your assistance I might have found things in bad shape, I fear.”

  McNutt was reassured. The nabob would stand for bill No. 1, without a doubt.

  “I tried fer to do my best, sir,” he said.

  “And you did very well,” was the reply. “I hope you kept your expenditures well within bounds?”

  The agent’s heart sank at the question and the shrewd, alert look that

  accompanied it. Even millionaires do not allow themselves to be

  swindled, if they can help it. Bill No. 2 would be stiff enough; he

  might even have to knock a few dollars off from that.

  “Most things is high in Millville,” he faltered, “an’ wages has gone up jest terr’ble. The boys don’t seem to wanter do nuthin’ without big pay.”

  “That is the case everywhere,” responded Mr. Merrick, thoughtfully; “and between us, McNutt, I’m glad wages are better in these prosperous times. The man who works by the day should be well paid, for he has to pay well for his living. Adequately paid labor is the foundation of all prosperity.”

  Peggy smiled cheerfully. He was glad he had had the forethought to bring

  Bill No. 1 along with him.

  “Hosses is high, too,” he remarked, complacently, “an’ lumber an’ nails is up. As fer the live-stock I bought fer ye, I found I had to pay like sixty for it.”

  “I suppose they overcharged you because a city man wanted the animals.

  But of course you would not allow me to be robbed.”

  “Oh, ‘course not, Mr. Merrick!”

  “And that nag in the stable is a sorry old beast.”

  Peggy was in despair. Why in the world hadn’t he charged for “the beast”? As it was now too late to add it to the bill he replied, grudgingly:

  “The hoss you mention belongs to the place, sir. It went with the farm, ‘long o’ Old Hucks an’ Nora.”

  “I’m glad you reminded me of those people,” said Uncle John, seriously.

  “Tell me their history.”

  Louise sauntered from the house, at this juncture, and sank gracefully upon the grass at her uncle’s feet. She carried a book, but did not open it.

  “Ain’t much to tell, sir, ‘bout them folks,” replied the agent. “Cap’n Wegg brung the Huckses with him when he settled here. Wegg were a sea-cap’n, ye see, an’ when he retired he Wanted to git as far from the sea’s he could.”

  “That was strange. A sailor usually loves to be near salt water all his days,” observed Uncle John.

  “Wall, Wegg he were diff’rent. He come here when I were a boy, bringin’ a sad-faced young woman an’ Ol’ Hucks an’ Nora. I s’pose Hucks were a sailor, too, though he never says nuthin’ ‘bout that. The Cap’n bought this no’count farm an’ had this house built on it — a proceedin’ that, ef I do say it, struck ev’rybody as cur’ous.”

  “It was curious,” agreed Mr. Merrick.

  “But the cur’ous’est thing was thet he didn’t make no ‘tempt at farmin’. Folks said he had money to burn, fer he loaded it into this fool house an’ then sot down an’ smoked all day an’ looked glum. Ol’ Hucks planted the berry patch an’ looked arter the orchard an’ the stock; but Cap’n Wegg on’y smoked an’ sulked. People at Millville was glad to leave him alone, an’ the on’y friend he ever had were crazy Will Thompson.”

  “Crazy?”

  “As a loon.” The agent hitched uneasily on the lawn bench, where he was seated, and then continued, hastily: “But thet ain’t neither here ner there. A baby was born arter a time, an’ while he was young the sad-faced mother sickened an’ died. Cap’n Wegg give her a decent fun’ral an’ went right on smokin’ his pipe an’ sulkin’, same as ever. Then he — he — died,” rather lamely, “an’ Joe — thet’s the boy — bein’ then about sixteen, dug out ‘n’ run away. We hain’t seen him sense.”

  “Nice boy?” asked Uncle John.

  “Joe were pretty well liked here, though he had a bit o’ his dad’s sulkiness. He ‘n’ Ethel Thompson — crazy Will’s gran’daughter — seemed like to make up together; but even she don’t know what drav him off — ’nless it were the Cap’n’s suddint death — ner where he went to.”

  Uncle John seemed thoughtful, but asked no more questions, and McNutt appeared to be relieved that he refrained. But the bill ought to be forthcoming now, and the agent gave a guilty start as his patron remarked:

  “I want to settle with you for what you have done. I’m willing to pay a liberal price, you understand, but I won’t submit to being robbed outrageously by you or any of your Millville people.”

  This was said so sternly that it sent McNutt into an ague of terror. He fumbled for the smallest bill, tremblingly placed it in Mr. Merrick’s hand, and then with a thrill of despair realized he had presented the dreadful No. 1!

  “It’s — it’s — a — ’count of what I spent out,” he stammered.

  Uncle John ran his eye over the bill.

  “What are Plymouth Rocks?” he demanded.

  “He — hens, sir.”

  “Hens at a dollar apiece?”

  “Thoroughbreds, sir. Extry fine stock. I raised ‘em myself.”

  “H-m. You’ve charged them twice.”

  “Eh?”

  “Here’s an item: ‘Twelve Plymouth Rocks, twelve dollars;’ and farther down: ‘Twelve Plymouth Rocks, eighteen dollars.’“

  “Oh, yes; o’ course. Ye see, I sold you a dozen first, of the dollar kind. Then I thought as how, bein’ fine young birds, you’d be tempted fer to eat ‘em, an’ a dozen don’t go fur on the table. So I up an’ sold ye another dozen, extry ol’ stock an’ remarkable high-bred, fer a dollar-an’-a-half each. Which is dirt cheap because they’s too old to eat an’ jest right fer layers.”

  “Are they here?”

  “Every one of ‘em.”

  “Very good. I’m glad to have them. The cow seems reasonably priced, for a Jersey.”

  “It is. Jest extror’nary!” exclaimed Peggy, reassured.

  “And your people have all done work of an unusual character in a painstaking manner. I am very much pleased. There seems to be a hundred and forty dollars my due, remaining from the five hundred I sent you.”

  “Here it is, sir,” responded McNutt, taking the money from his pocket-book. In another place he had more money, which he had intended to pay if the smaller bill had been presented.

  Uncle John took the money.

  “You are an honest fellow, McNutt,” said he. “I hadn’t expected a dollar back, for folks usually take advantage of a stranger if he gives them half a chance. So I thank you for your honesty as well as for your services. Good morning.”

  The agent was thoroughly ashamed of himself. To be “sech a duffer” as to return that money, when by means of a little strategy he might have kept it, made him feel both humiliated and indignant. A hundred and forty dollars; When would he have a chance to get such a windfall again? Pah! he was a fool — to copy his identical thoughts: “a gol dum blithering idjit!”

  All the way home he reflected dismally upon his lack of business foresight, and strove to plan ways to get money “out’n thet easy mark.”

  “Didn’t the man rob you, Uncle?” asked Louise, when the agent had disappeared.

  “Yes, dear; but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I realized it.”

  “That was what I thought. By the way, that Wegg history seems both romantic and unusual,” she said, musingly. “Don’t you scent some mystery in what the man said of it?”

  “Mystery!” cried Uncle John. “Lordy, no, Louise. You’ve been readin’ too many novels. Romances don’t grow in parts like these.”

  “But I think this is where they are most likely to grow, Uncle,” persisted the girl, “just consider. A retired sea captain hides inland, with no companions but a grinning sailor and his blind housekeeper — except his pale wife, of course; and she
is described as sad and unhappy. Who was she, do you think?”

  “I don’t think,” said Uncle John, smiling and patting the fair check of his niece. “And it don’t matter who she was.”

  “I’m sure it does. It is the key to the whole mystery. Even her baby could not cheer the poor thing’s broken heart. Even the fine house the Captain built failed to interest her. She pined away and died, and — — ”

  “And that finished the romance, Louise.”

  “Oh, no; that added to its interest. The boy grew up in this dismal place and brooded on his mother’s wrongs. His stern, sulky old father died suddenly. Was he murdered?” in a low voice; “did the son revenge his mother’s wrongs?”

  “Figglepiff, Louise! You’re getting theatric — and so early in the morning, too! Want to saddle my new farm with a murder, do you? Well, it’s rubbish. Joe Wegg ran away from here to get busy in the world. Major Doyle helped him with my money, in exchange for this farm, which the boy was sensible to get rid of — although I’m glad it’s now mine. The Major liked Joe Wegg, and says he’s a clean-cut, fine young feller. He’s an inventor, too, even if an unlucky one, and I’ve no doubt he’ll make his way in the world and become a good citizen.”

  With these words Uncle John arose and sauntered around to the barn, to look at the litter of new pigs that just then served to interest and amuse him. The girl remained seated upon the grass, her hands clasped over her knee and a look of deep retrospection upon her face.

  CHAPTER VII.

  LOUISE SCENTS A MYSTERY.

  Louise Merrick was the eldest of Uncle John’s nieces, having just passed her eighteenth birthday. In the city she was devoted to the requirements of fashionable society and — urged thereto by her worldly-minded mother — led a mere butterfly existence. Her two cousins frankly agreed that Louise was shallow, insincere and inclined to be affected; but of the three girls she displayed the most equable and pleasant disposition and under the most trying circumstances was composed and charming in manner. For this reason she was an agreeable companion, and men usually admired her graceful figure and her piquant, pretty face with its crown of fluffy blonde hair and winning expression. There was a rumor that she was engaged to be married to Arthur Weldon, a young man of position in the city; but Uncle John ignored the possibility of losing one of his cherished nieces and declared that Louise was still too young to think of marriage.

  When away from her frivolous mother and the inconsequent home environments the girl was more unaffected and natural in her ways, and her faults were doubtless more the result of education than of natural tendency.

  One thing was indisputable, however: Louise Merrick was a clever girl, possessing a quick intellect and a keen insight into the character of others. Her apparent shallowness was a blind of the same character as her assumed graciousness, and while she would have been more lovable without any pretence or sham she could not have been Louise Merrick and allow others to read her as she actually was. Patsy and Beth thought they knew her, and admired or liked rather than loved their cousin. Uncle John thought he knew her, too, and was very proud of his eldest niece in spite of some discovered qualities that were not wholly admirable.

  An extensive course of light literature, not void of “detective stories,” had at this moment primed Louise with its influence to the extent of inducing her to scent a mystery in the history of Captain Wegg. The plain folks around Millville might speculate listlessly upon the “queer doin’s” at the farm, and never get anywhere near the truth. Indeed, the strange occurrences she had just heard were nearly forgotten in the community, and soon would be forgotten altogether — unless the quick ear of a young girl had caught the clue so long ignored.

  At first she scarcely appreciated the importance of the undertaking. It occurred to her that an effort to read to the bottom of the sea captain’s romance would be a charming diversion while she resided at Millville, and in undertaking the task she laughingly accused herself of becoming an amateur detective — an occupation that promised to be thrilling and delightful.

  Warned, however, by the rebuff she had met with from Uncle John, the girl decided not to confide either her suspicions or her proposed investigation to anyone for the present, but to keep her own counsel until she could surprise them all with the denouement or required assistance to complete her work.

  Inspired by the cleverness and fascination of this idea, Louise set to work to tabulate the information she had received thus far, noting the; element of mystery each fact evolved. First, Captain Wegg must have been a rich man in order to build this house, maintain two servants and live for years in comfort without any income from his barren farm lands. What became of his money after his death? Why was his only son obliged to fly to the cities in order to obtain a livelihood? Secondly, the Captain, a surly and silent man, had brought hither — perhaps by force — a young woman as his wife who was so unhappy that she pined away and died. Who was this woman? What had rendered her so unhappy and despairing?

  Thirdly, the Captain’s only friend had been a crazy man named Will Thompson. Was he crazy before the Captain’s death, or had he become crazed at that time, some terrible tragedy unhinging his mind?

  Fourthly, the granddaughter of Thompson, Ethel, and the son of Captain Wegg had been in love with each other, and people expected they would marry in time. But at his father’s sudden death the boy fled and left his sweetheart without a word. Why — unless something had occurred that rendered their marriage impossible?

  In the fifth place there was Old Hucks and his blind wife to be considered. What did they know about their old master’s secret history? What tragic memories lurked beneath the man’s perpetual smile and the woman’s composed and sightless face?

  Surely there was enough here to excite the curiosity and warrant an effort to untangle the mystery. And as instruments to the end there were several people available who could be of use to her; McNutt, the agent, who evidently knew more than he had cared to tell; Old Hucks and his wife and Ethel Thompson, the school-teacher. There might be others, but one or another of these four must know the truth, and it would be her pleasant duty to obtain a full disclosure. So she was anxious to begin her investigations at once.

  When her uncle returned from his visit to the pigs Louise said to him:

  “I’ve been thinking, dear, that we ought to call upon that young lady who arranged our rooms, and thank her for her kindness.”

  “That’s true,” he replied.

  “Can’t we drive over to Thompson’s this morning, Uncle?”

  “Beth and Patsy have planned a tramp to the lake, and a row after water-lilies.”

  “Then let us make our call together. We can invite the girl to come here and spend a day with us, when Patsy and Beth will be able to meet her.”

  “That’s a good idea, Louise. I was wondering what I’d do this morning.

  Tell Old Hucks to get the nag harnessed.”

  The girl ran eagerly upon her errand. Old Hucks seemed surprised, and a curious expression showed for an instant through his smile. But he turned without a word to harness the horse.

  Louise stood watching him.

  “Your fingers are quite nimble, Thomas, considering the fact that you were once a sailor,” she said.

  “But sailors have to be nimble, miss,” he returned, buckling a strap unmoved. “Who tol’ ye I were once a sea-farin’ man?”

  “I guessed it.”

  As he appeared indisposed to say more on the subject she asked: “Did you sail with Captain Wegg?”

  “Partly, miss. Dan’s already now. Don’t jerk the bit, fer his mouth’s tender an’ it makes him balky. Ef he balks jest let him rest a time, an’ then speak to him. Dan ain’t vicious; he’s jest ornery.”

  She climbed into the dilapidated old buggy and took the reins. Dan groaned and ambled slowly around to where Uncle John stood awaiting his niece.

  “Let me drive, Uncle,” she said; “I understand Dan.”

  “Well, I don’t,
” returned Uncle John, in his whimsical way, as he mounted to the seat beside her. “I don’t understand how he’s happened to live since the landing of Columbus, or what he’s good for, or why someone don’t knock him on the head.”

  Dan turned his long, lean face as if to give the speaker a reproachful look; then he groaned again, leaned forward, and drew the buggy slowly into the stony lane.

  “Do you know where the Thompsons live?” inquired Uncle John.

  “No. Whoa, Dan!”

  That was the best thing the nag did. He knew how to whoa.

  “Thomas!” called Uncle John, turning in his seat; and at the summons Old

  Hucks came from the barn and approached them. “How do you get to Miss

  Thompson’s place?”

  “Miss Ethel’s?” Another fleeting expression of surprise.

  “Yes; we’re going over to thank her for her kindness to us.”

  “I — I’m ‘most sure as she’ll be here soon to call, sir. And — perhaps you oughtn’t to — to go to — Thompson’s,” stammered Hucks, glancing up at them with his bright, elusive smile.

  “Well, we’re going, anyhow,” growled Mr. Merrick.