No one had been more interested in the advent of the millionaire at the Wegg farm than the widow Clark. She had helped “fix up” the house for the new owner and her appreciative soul had been duly impressed by the display of wealth demonstrated by the fine furniture sent down from the city. She had watched the arrival of the party and noticed with eager eyes the group of three pretty and stylishly dressed nieces who accompanied their rich uncle. Once or twice since the young ladies had entered her establishment to purchase pens or stationery, and on such occasions the widow was quite overcome by their condescension.
All this set her thinking to some purpose. One day she walked over to the farm and made her way quietly to the back door. By good fortune she found blind Nora hemming napkins and in a mood to converse. Nora was an especially neat seamstress, but required some one to thread her needles. Mary the cook had been doing this, but now Mrs. Clark sat down beside Nora to “hev a little talk” and keep the needles supplied with thread.
She learned a good deal about the nieces, for old Nora could not praise them enough. They were always sweet and kind to her and she loved to talk about them. They were all rich, too, or would be; for their uncle had no children of his own and could leave several millions to each one when he died.
“An’ they’re so simple, too,” said the old woman; “nothin’ cityfied ner stuck-up about any on ‘em, I kin tell ye. They dresses as fine as the Queen o’ Sheba, Tom says; but they romp ‘round just like they was borned in the country. Miss Patsy she’s learnin’ to milk the cow, an’ Miss Beth takes care o’ the chickens all by herself. They’re reg’lar girls, Marthy Clark, an’ money hain’t spiled ‘em a bit.”
This report tended to waken a great ambition in the widow’s heart. Or perhaps the ambition had already taken form and this gossip confirmed and established it. Before she left the farm she had a chance to secretly observe the girls, and they met with her full approval.
At supper that evening she said to her hopeful:
“Skim, I want ye to go courtin’.”
Skim looked up in amazement.
“Me, ma?” he asked.
“Yes, you. It’s time you was thinkin’ of gittin’ married.”
Skim held his knife in his mouth a moment while he thought over this startling proposition. Then he removed the cutlery, heaved a deep sigh, and enquired:
“Who at, ma?”
“What’s that?”
“Who’ll I go courtin’ at?”
“Skim, you ‘member in thet las’ book we read, ‘The Angel Maniac’s
Revenge,’ there was a sayin’ that fate knocks wunst on ev’ry man’s door.
Well, fate’s knockin’ on your door.”
Skim listened, with a nervous glance toward the doorway. Then he shook his head.
“All fool fancy, ma,” he remarked. “Don’t ye go an’ git no rumantic notions out’n books inter yer head.”
“Skim, am I a fool, er ain’t I?”
“‘Tain’t fer me ter say, ma.”
“Fate’s knockin’, an’ if you don’t open to it, Skim, I’ll wash my hands o’ ye, an’ ye kin jest starve to death.”
The boy looked disturbed.
“What’s aggrivatin’ of ye, then?” he enquired, anxiously.
“A millionaire is come right under yer nose. He’s here in Millville, with three gals fer nieces thet’s all got money to squander an’s bound to hev more.”
Skim gave a low whistle.
“Ye don’t mean fer me to be courtin’ at them gals, do ye?” he demanded.
“Why not? Yer fambly’s jest as respectible as any, ‘cept thet yer Uncle Mell backslided after the last revival, an’ went to a hoss race. Yer young, an’ yer han’some; an’ there’s three gals waitin’ ready to be won by a bold wooer. Be bold, Skim; take fate by the fetlock, an’ yer fortun’s made easy!”
Skim did not reply at once. He gulped down his tea and stared at the opposite wall in deep thought. It wasn’t such a “tarnal bad notion,” after all, and so thoroughly impressed was he with his own importance and merit that it never occurred to him he would meet with any difficulties if he chose to undertake the conquest.
“Peggy says marri’ge is the mark of a fool; an’ Peggy married money, too,” he remarked slowly.
“Pah! money! Mary Ann Cotting didn’t hev but a hundred an’ forty dollars, all told, an’ she were an old maid an’ soured an’ squint-eyed when Peggy hitched up with her.”
“I hain’t seen nuthin’ o’ the world, yit,” continued Skim, evasively.
“Ner ye won’t nuther, onless ye marry money. Any one o’ them gals could take ye to Europe an’ back a dozen times.”
Skim reflected still farther.
“Courtin’ ought to hev some decent clothes,” he said. “I kain’t set in the nabob’s parlor, with all thet slick furnitur’, in Nick Thorne’s cast-off Sunday suit.”
“The cloth’s as good as ever was made, an’ I cut ‘em down myself, an’ stitched ‘em all over.”
“They don’t look like store clothes, though,” objected Skim.
The widow sighed.
“Tain’t the coat that makes the man, Skim.”
“It’s the coat thet makes decent courtin’, though,” he maintained, stubbornly. “Gals like to see a feller dressed up. It shows he means business an’ ‘mounts to somethin’.”
“I give Nick Thorne two dollars an’ a packidge o’ terbacker fer them clotlies, which the on’y thing wrong about was they’d got too snug fer comfert. Nick said so himself. But I’ll make a bargain with ye, Skim. Ef you’ll agree to give me fifty dollars after yer married, I’ll buy ye some store clothes o’ Sam Cotting, to do courtin’ in.”
“Fifty dollars!”
“Well, I’ve brung ye up, hain’t I?” “I’ve worked like a nigger, mindin’ shop.” “Say forty dollars. I ain’t small, an’ ef ye git one o’ them city gals, Skim, forty dollars won’t mean no more’n a wink of an eye to ye.”
Skim frowned. Then he smiled, and the smile disclosed a front tooth missing.
“I’ll dream on’t,” he said. “Let ye know in the mornin’, ma. But I won’t court a minite, mind ye, ‘nless I git store clothes.”
CHAPTER XX.
A LOST CAUSE.
The boy’s musings confirmed him in the idea that his mother’s scheme was entirely practical. He didn’t hanker much to marry, being young and fairly satisfied with his present lot; but opportunities like this did not often occur, and it seemed his bounden duty to take advantage of it.
He got the “store clothes” next day, together with a scarlet necktie that was “all made up in the latest style,” as Sam Cotting assured him, and a pair of yellow kid gloves “fit fer a howlin’ swell.” Skim wasn’t sure, at first, about the gloves, but capitulated when Sam declared they were “real cityfied.”
In the evening he “togged up,” with his mother’s help, and then walked over to the Wegg farm.
Beth answered the knock at the door. The living room was brightly lighted; Uncle John and the Major were playing checkers in a corner and Patsy was softly drumming on the piano. Louise had a book and Beth had been engaged upon some fancy-work.
When the door opened Skim bobbed his head and said:
“Evenin’, mom. I’ve come a-visitin’.”
Beth conquered an inclination to smile.
“Won’t you come in?” she said, sweetly.
“Thankee; I will. I’m Skimbley Clark, ye know; down t’ the village. Ma keeps a store there.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Clark. Allow me to introduce to you my uncle and cousins,” said the girl, her eyes dancing with amusement.
Skim acknowledged the introductions with intense gravity, and then sat down upon a straight-backed chair near the piano, this being the end of the room where the three girls were grouped. Uncle John gave a chuckle and resumed his game with the Major, who whispered that he would give a dollar for an oil painting of Mr. Clark — if it couldn’t be had for less.<
br />
Louise laid down her book and regarded the visitor wonderingly. Patsy scented fun and drew a chair nearer the group. Beth resumed her embroidery with a demure smile that made Skim decide at once that “he picked the pretty one.”
Indeed, the decision did justice to his discretion. Beth De Graf was a rarely beautiful girl and quite outshone her cousins in this respect. Louise might be attractive and Patsy fascinating; but Beth was the real beauty of the trio, and the most charming trait in her character was her unconsciousness that she excelled in good looks.
So Skim stared hard at Beth, and answered the preliminary remarks addressed to him by Patsy and Louise in a perfunctory manner.
“Won’t you take off your gloves?” asked Louise, soberly. “It’s so warm this evening, you know.”
The boy looked at his hands.
“It’s sech a tarnal job to git ‘em on agin,” he replied.
“Don’t put them on, then,” advised Patsy. “Here in the country we are allowed to dispense with much unnecessary social etiquette.”
“Air ye? Then off they come. I ain’t much stuck on gloves, myself; but ma she ‘lowed that a feller goin’ courtin’ orter look like a sport.”
A chorus of wild laughter, which greeted this speech, had the effect of making Skim stare at the girls indignantly. He couldn’t find anything funny in his remark; but there they sat facing him and uttering hysterical peals of merriment, until the tears ran down their cheeks.
Silently and with caution he removed the yellow gloves from his hands, and so gave the foolish creatures a chance “to laugh out their blamed giggle.”
But they were watching him, and saw that he was disconcerted. They had no mind to ruin the enjoyment in store for them by offending their guest, so they soon resumed a fitting gravity and began to assist the youth to forget their rudeness.
“May I ask,” said Patsy, very graciously, “which one of us you intend to favor with your attentions?”
“I ain’t much used to sech things,” he replied, looking down at his big hands and growing a little red-faced. “P’raps I hadn’t orter tell, before the rest o’ ye.”
“Oh, yes; do tell!” pleaded Louise. “We’re so anxious to know.”
“I don’t s’pose it’s right clever to pick an’ choose when ye’re all by,” said Skim, regaining confidence. “But ma, she ‘lowed thet with three gals handy I orter git one on ‘em, to say the least.”
“If you got more than one,” remarked Beth, calmly, “it would be illegal.”
“Oh, one’s enough,” said Skim, with a grin. “Peggy says it’s too many, an’ a feller oughtn’t to take his gal out’n a grab-bag.”
“I should think not, indeed,” returned Patsy. “But here are three of us openly displayed, and unless you turn us all down as unworthy, it will be necessary for you to make a choice.”
“What foolishness are you girls up to now?” demanded Uncle John, catching a stray word from the other corner while engaged in a desperate struggle with the Major.
“This is a time for you to keep quiet, Uncle,” retorted Patsy, merrily. “We’ve got important things to consider that are none of your affairs, whatever.”
Skim reflected that he didn’t want this one, except as a last resort.
She was “too bossy.”
“When I started out,” he said, “I jest come a-courtin’, as any feller might do thet wasn’t much acquainted. But ef I’ve got to settle down to one o’ ye — ”
He hesitated.
“Oh, you must really take one at a time, you know,” asserted Louise.
“It’s the only proper way.”
“Then I’ll start on thet dark-eyed one thet’s a sewin’,” he said, slowly.
Beth looked up from her work and smiled.
“Go ahead, Mr. Clark,” she said, encouragingly. “My name is Beth. Had you forgotten it?”
“Call me Skim,” he said, gently.
“Very well, Skim, — Now look here, Patsy Doyle, if you’re going to sit there and giggle you’ll spoil everything. Mr. Clark wants to court, and it’s getting late.”
“P’raps I’ve went fur enough fer tonight,” remarked Skim, uneasily.
“Next time they’ll leave us alone, an’ then — — ”
“Oh, don’t postpone it, please!” begged Beth, giving the boy a demure glance from her soft brown eyes. “And don’t mind my cousins. I don’t.”
“These things kain’t be hurried,” he said. “Si Merkle courted three weeks afore he popped. He tol’ me so.”
“Then he was a very foolish man,” declared Patsy, positively. “Just look at Beth! She’s dying to have you speak out. What’s the use of waiting, when she knows why you are here?”
By this time Skim had been flattered to the extent of destroying any stray sense he might ever have possessed. His utter ignorance of girls and their ways may have been partly responsible for his idiocy, or his mother’s conviction that all that was necessary was for him to declare himself in order to be accepted had misled him and induced him to abandon any native diffidence he might have had. Anyway, the boy fell into the snare set by the mischievous young ladies without a suspicion of his impending fate.
“Miss Beth,” said he, “ef yer willin’, I’ll marry ye; any time ye say. I agreed t’ help Dick Pearson with the harvestin’, but I’ll try to’ git Ned Long to take my place, an’ it don’t matter much, nohow.”
“But I couldn’t have you break an engagement,” cried Beth, hastily.
“Why not?”
“Oh, it wouldn’t be right, at all. Mr. Pearson would never forgive me,” she asserted.
“Can’t ye — ”
“No; not before harvest, Skim. I couldn’t think of it.”
“But arterward — ”
“No; I’ve resolved never to marry after harvest. So, as you’re engaged, and I don’t approve of breaking engagements, I must refuse your proposition entirely.”
Skim looked surprised; then perplexed; then annoyed.
“P’raps I didn’t pop jest right,” he murmured, growing red again.
“You popped beautifully,” declared Patsy. “But Beth is very peculiar, and set in her ways. I’m afraid she wouldn’t make you a good wife, anyhow.”
“Then p’raps the gal in blue — — ”
“No;” said Louise. “I have the same prejudices as my cousin. If you hadn’t been engaged for the harvest I might have listened to you; but that settles the matter definitely, as far as I am concerned.”
Skim sighed.
“Ma’ll be mad as a hornet ef I don’t get any of ye,” he remarked, sadly. “She’s paid Sam Cotting fer this courtin’ suit, an’ he won’t take back the gloves on no ‘count arter they’ve been wore; an’ thet’ll set ma crazy. Miss Patsy, ef yo’ think ye could — — ”
“I’m sure I couldn’t,” said Patsy, promptly. “I’m awfully sorry to break your heart, Skim, dear, and ruin your future life, and make you misanthropic and cynical, and spoil your mother’s investment and make her mad as a hornet. All this grieves me terribly; but I’ll recover from it, if you’ll only give me time. And I hope you’ll find a wife that will be more congenial than I could ever be.”
Skim didn’t understand all these words, but the general tenor of the speech was convincing, and filled him with dismay.
“Rich gals is tarnal skeerce in these parts,” he said, regretfully.
Then they gave way again, and so lusty was the merriment that Uncle John and the Major abandoned their game and came across the room to discover the source of all this amusement.
“What’s up, young women?” asked their Uncle, glancing from their laughing faces to the lowering, sullen one of the boy, who had only now begun to suspect that he was being “poked fun at.”
“Oh, Uncle!” cried Patsy; “you’ve no idea how near you have been to losing us. We have each had an offer of marriage within the last half hour!”
“Dear me!” ejaculated Uncle John.
“It shows
the young man’s intelligence and good taste,” said the Major, much amused. “But is it a Mormon ye are, sir, to want all three?” directing a keen glance at Skim.
“Naw, ‘tain’t,” he returned, wholly disgusted with the outcome of his suit. “All three got as’t ‘cause none of ‘em’s got sense enough t’ know a good thing when they seen it.”
“But I do,” said the Major, stoutly; “and I maintain that you’re a good thing, and always will be. I hope, sir, you’ll call ‘round and see me in Baltimore next year. I’ll not be there, but ye can leave your card, just the same.”
“Please call again, sir,” added Uncle John; “about October — just before snow flies.”
The boy got up.
“I don’t keer none,” he said, defiantly. “It’s all ma’s fault, gittin’ me laughed at, an’ she won’t hear the last of it in a hurry, nuther.”
“Be gentle with her, Skim,” suggested Beth, softly. “Remember she has to face the world with you by her side.”
Having no retort for this raillery, which he felt rather than understood, Skim seized his hat and fled. Then Patsy wiped the tears from her eyes and said:
“Wasn’t it grand, girls? I haven’t had so much fun since I was born.”
CHAPTER XXI.
THE TRAP IS SET.
Uncle John was forced to acknowledge to his nieces that his boast to unmask Bob West within three days was mere blustering. If he accomplished anything in three weeks he would consider himself fortunate. But he had no wish to conceal anything from the girls, so he told them frankly of his interview with the hardware merchant, and also what Joe Wegg had said about the stock in the locked cupboard. They were, of course, greatly interested in this new phase of the matter and canvassed it long and eagerly.
“The man is lying, of course,” said Patsy, “for Captain Wegg and poor Mr. Thompson could not transfer their stock to West after that fatal night when he brought to them the news of the fire.”
“I believe the stock is still in this cupboard,” declared Uncle John.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 429
