Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  Uncle John strode into the room angry and indignant at the fellow’s cool impertinence. The Major and Louise followed, and all eyes centered upon the face of Bob West.

  “The contents of this cupboard,” remarked the hardware merchant, calmly, “belong to the estate of Captain Wegg, and can scarcely be claimed by you because you have purchased the house. You falsely accused me the other day, sir, and I have been searching for proof that the Almaquo Timber Tract stock is entirely my property.”

  “Have you found such proof?” inquired Mr. Merrick.

  “Not yet.”

  “And you say the stock was all issued to you?”

  West hesitated.

  “It was all transferred to me by Captain Wegg and Will Thompson.”

  “Does the transfer appear upon the stock itself?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “In that case,” said Uncle John, “I shall be obliged to ask your pardon.

  But the fact can be easily proved.”

  He walked to the open cupboard, felt for the slide Joe had described to him, and drew it forward. A small drawer was behind the orifice, and from this Mr. Merrick drew a packet of papers.

  West gave a start and half arose. Then he settled back into his chair again.

  “H-m. This appears to be the stock in question,” said Uncle John. He drew a chair to the table, unfolded the documents and examined them with deliberate care.

  The nieces watched his face curiously. Mr. Merrick first frowned, then turned red, and finally a stern, determined look settled upon his rugged features.

  “Take your stock, Mr. West,” he said, tossing it toward the man; “and try to forgive us for making fools of ourselves!”

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  MR. WEST EXPLAINS.

  A cry of amazed protest burst from the girls. The Major whistled softly and walked to the window.

  “I find the stock properly transferred,” continued Uncle John, grimly conscious that he was as thoroughly disappointed as the girls. “It is signed by both Wegg and Thompson, and witnessed in the presence of a notary. I congratulate you, Mr. West. You have acquired a fortune.”

  “But not recently,” replied the hardware dealer, enjoying the confusion of his recent opponents. “I have owned this stock for more than three years, and you will see by the amount endorsed upon it that I paid a liberal price for it, under the circumstances.”

  Uncle John gave a start and a shrewd look.

  “Of course you did,” said he. “On paper.”

  “I have records to prove that both Captain Wegg and Will Thompson received their money,” said West, quietly. “I see it is hard for you to abandon the idea that I am a rogue.”

  There could be no adequate reply to this, so for a time all sat in moody silence. But the thoughts of some were busy.

  “I would like Mr. West to explain what became of the money he paid for this stock,” said Louise; adding: “That is, if he will be so courteous.”

  West did not answer for a moment. Then he said, with a gesture of indifference:

  “I am willing to tell all I know. But you people must admit that the annoyances you have caused me during the past fortnight, to say nothing of the gratuitous insults heaped upon my head, render me little inclined to favor you.”

  “You are quite justified in feeling as you do,” replied Uncle John, meekly. “I have been an ass, West; but circumstances warranted me in suspecting you, and even Joseph Wegg did not know that the Almaquo stock had been transferred to you. He merely glanced at it at the time of his father’s death, without noticing the endorsement, and thought the fire had rendered it worthless. But if you then owned the stock, why was it not in your possession?”

  “That was due to my carelessness,” was the reply. “The only notary around here is at Hooker’s Falls, and Mr. Thompson offered to have him come to Captain Wegg’s residence and witness the transfer. As my presence was not necessary for this, and I had full confidence in my friends’ integrity, I paid them their money, which they were eager to secure at once, and said I would call in a few days for the stock. I did call, and was told the notary had been here and the transfer had been legally made. Wegg said he would get the stock from the cupboard and hand it to me; but we both forgot it at that time. After his death I could not find it, for it was in the secret drawer.”

  “Another thing, sir,” said Uncle John. “If neither Wegg nor Thompson was then interested in the Almaquo property, why did the news of its destruction by fire shock them so greatly that the result was Captain Wegg’s death?”

  “I see it will be necessary for me to explain to you more fully,” returned West, with a thoughtful look. “It is evident, Mr. Merrick, from your questions, that some of these occurrences seem suspicious to a stranger, and perhaps you are not so much to be blamed as, in my annoyance and indignation, I have imagined.”

  “I would like the matter cleared up for the sake of Ethel and Joe,” said

  Mr. Merrick, simply.

  “And so would I,” declared the hardware dealer. “You must know, sir, that Will Thompson was the one who first led Captain Wegg into investing his money. I think the Captain did it merely to please Will, for at that time he had become so indifferent to worldly affairs that he took no interest in anything beyond a mild wish to provide for his son’s future. But Thompson was erratic in judgment, so Wegg used to bring their matters to me to decide upon. I always advised them as honestly as I was able. At the time I secured an option on the Almaquo tract, and wanted them to join me, Will Thompson had found another lot of timber, but located in an out-of-the-way corner, which he urged the Captain to join him in buying. Wegg brought the matter to me, as usual, and I pointed out that my proposed contract with the Pierce-Lane Lumber Company would assure our making a handsome profit at Almaquo, while Thompson had no one in view to cut the other tract. Indeed, it was far away from any railroad. Wegg saw the force of my argument, and insisted that Thompson abandon his idea and accept my proposition. Together we bought the property, having formed a stock company, and the contract for cutting the timber was also secured. Things were looking bright for us and royalty payments would soon be coming in.

  “Then, to my amazement, Wegg came to me and wanted to sell out their interests. He said Thompson had always been dissatisfied because they had not bought the other tract of timber, and that the worry and disappointment was affecting his friend’s mind. He was personally satisfied that my investment was the best, but, in order to sooth old Will and prevent his mind from giving way, Wegg wanted to withdraw and purchase the other tract.

  “I knew there was a fortune in Almaquo, so I went to New York and mortgaged all I possessed, discounting a lot of notes given me by farmers in payment for machinery, and finally borrowing at a high rate of interest the rest of the money I needed. In other words I risked all my fortune on Almaquo, and brought the money home to pay Wegg and Thompson for their interest. The moment they received the payment they invested it in the Bogue tract — ”

  “Hold on!” cried Uncle John. “What tract did you say?”

  “The Bogue timber tract, sir. It lies — ”

  “I know where it lies. Our company has been a whole year trying to find out who owned it.”

  “Wegg and Thompson bought it. I was angry at the time, because their withdrawal had driven me into a tight corner to protect my investment, and I told them they would bitterly regret their action. I think Wegg agreed with me, but Will Thompson was still stubborn.

  “Then came the news of the fire at Almaquo. It was a false report, I afterward learned, but at that time I believed the newspapers, and the blow almost deprived me of reason. In my excitement I rushed over to Wegg’s farm and found the two men together, whereupon I told them I was ruined.

  “The news affected them powerfully because they had just saved themselves from a like ruin, they thought. Wegg was also a sympathetic man, in spite of his reserve. His old heart trouble suddenly came upon him, aggravated by the excitement of the
hour, and he died with scarcely a moan. Thompson, whose reason was tottering long before this, became violently insane at witnessing his friend’s death, and has never since recovered. That is all I am able to tell you, sir.”

  “The Bogue tract,” said Uncle John, slowly, “is worth far more than the Almaquo. Old Will Thompson was sane enough when insisting on that investment. But where is the stock, or deed, to show they bought that property?”

  “I do not know, sir. I only know they told me they had effected the purchase.”

  “Pardon me,” said the Major. “Have you not been through this cupboard before?”

  West looked at him with a frown.

  “Yes; in a search for my own stock,” he said. “But I found neither that nor any deed to the Bogue property. I am not a thief, Major Doyle.”

  “You stole the keys, though,” said Louise, pointedly.

  “I did not even do that,” said West. “On the day of the funeral Joe carelessly left them lying upon a table, so I slipped them into my pocket. When I thought of them again Joe had gone away and I did not know his address. I came over and searched the cupboard unsuccessfully. But it was not a matter of great importance at that time if the stock was mislaid, since there was no one to contest my ownership of it. It was only after Mr. Merrick accused me of robbing my old friends and ordered my payments stopped that I realized it was important to me to prove my ownership. That is why I came here today.”

  Again a silence fell upon the group. Said Uncle John, finally:

  “If the deed to the Bogue tract can be found, Joe and Ethel will be rich. I wonder what became of the paper.”

  No one answered, for here was another mystery.

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  PEGGY HAS REVENGE.

  Joe Wegg made a rapid recovery, his strength returning under the influence of pleasant surroundings and frequent visits from Ethel and Uncle John’s three nieces. Not a word was hinted to either the invalid or the school teacher regarding the inquiries Mr. Merrick was making about the deed to the Bogue timber lands, which, if found, would make the young couple independent. Joe was planning to exploit a new patent as soon as he could earn enough to get it introduced, and Ethel exhibited a sublime confidence in the boy’s ability that rendered all question of money insignificant.

  Joe’s sudden appearance in the land of his birth and his generally smashed up condition were a nine days’ wonder in Millville. The gossips wanted to know all the whys and wherefores, but the boy kept his room in the hotel, or only walked out when accompanied by Ethel or one of the three nieces. Sometimes they took him to ride, as he grew better, and the fact that Joe “were hand an’ glove wi’ the nabobs” lent him a distinction he had never before possessed.

  McNutt, always busy over somebody else’s affairs, was very curious to know what had caused the accident Joe had suffered. Notwithstanding the little affair of the letter, in which he had not appeared with especial credit, Peggy made an effort to interview the young man that resulted in his complete discomfiture. But that did not deter him from indulging in various vivid speculations about Joe Wegg, which the simple villagers listened to with attention. For one thing, he confided to “the boys” at the store that, in his opinion, the man who had murdered Cap’n Wegg had tried to murder his son also, and it wasn’t likely Joe could manage to escape him a second time. Another tale evolved from Peggy’s fertile imagination was that Joe, being about to starve to death in the city, had turned burglar and been shot in the arm in an attempt at housebreaking.

  “Wouldn’t be s’prised,” said the agent, in an awed voice, “ef the p’lice was on his track now. P’raps there’s a reward offered, boys; let’s keep an eye on him!”

  He waylaid the nieces once or twice, and tried to secure from them a verification of his somber suspicions, which they mischievously fostered.

  The girls found him a source of much amusement, and relieved their own disappointment at finding the “Wegg Mystery” a pricked bubble by getting McNutt excited over many sly suggestions of hidden crimes. They knew he was harmless, for even his neighbors needed proof of any assertion he made; moreover, the investigation Uncle John was making would soon set matters right; so the young ladies did not hesitate to “have fun” at the little agent’s expense.

  One of McNutt’s numerous occupations was raising a “patch” of watermelons each year on the lot back of the house. These he had fostered with great care since the plants had first sprouted through the soil, and in these late August days two or three hundreds of fine, big melons were just getting ripe. He showed the patch with much pride one day to the nieces, saying:

  “Here’s the most extry-fine melling-patch in this county, ef I do say it myself. Dan Brayley he thinks he kin raise mellings, but the ol’ fool ain’t got a circumstance to this. Ain’t they beauties?”

  “It seems to me,” observed Patsy, gravely, “that Brayley’s are just as good. We passed his place this morning and wondered how he could raise such enormous melons.”

  “‘Normous! Brayley’s!”

  “I’m sure they are finer than these,” said Beth.

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” Peggy’s eyes stared as they had never stared before. “Dan Brayley, he’s a miser’ble ol’ skinflint. Thet man couldn’t raise decent mellings ef he tried.”

  “What do you charge for melons, Mr. McNutt?” inquired Louise.

  “Charge? Why — er — fifty cents a piece is my price to nabobs; an’ dirt cheap at that!”

  “That is too much,” declared Patsy. “Mr. Brayley says he will sell his melons for fifteen cents each.”

  “Him! Fifteen cents!” gasped Peggy, greatly disappointed. “Say, Brayley’s a disturbin’ element in these parts. He oughter go to jail fer asking fifteen cents fer them mean little mellings o’ his’n.”

  “They seem as large as yours,” murmured Louise.

  “But they ain’t. An’ Brayley’s a cheat an’ a rascal, while a honester man ner me don’t breathe. Nobody likes Brayley ‘round Millville. Why, on’y las’ winter he called me a meddler — in public! — an’ said as I shot off my mouth too much. Me!”

  “How impolite.”

  “But that’s Dan Brayley. My mellings at fifty cents is better ‘n his’n at fifteen.”

  “Tell me,” said Patsy, with a smile, “did you ever rob a melon-patch,

  Mr. McNutt?”

  “Me? I don’t hev to. I grow ‘em.”

  “But the ones you grow are worth fifty cents each, are they not?”

  “Sure; mine is.”

  “Then every time you eat one of your own melons you eat fifty cents. If you were eating one of Mr. Brayley’s melons you would only eat fifteen cents.”

  “And it would be Brayley’s fifteen cents, too,” added Beth, quickly.

  Peggy turned his protruding eyes from one to the other, and a smile slowly spread over his features.

  “By jinks, let’s rob Brayley’s melling-patch!” he cried.

  “All right; we’ll help you,” answered Patsy, readily.

  “Oh, my dear!” remonstrated Louise, not understanding.

  “It will be such fun,” replied her cousin, with eyes dancing merrily. “Boys always rob melon-patches, so I don’t see why girls shouldn’t. When shall we do it, Mr. McNutt?”

  “There ain’t any moon jest now, an’ the nights is dark as blazes. Let’s go ternight.”

  “It’s a bargain,” declared Patsy. “We will come for you in the surrey at ten o’clock, and all drive together to the back of Brayley’s yard and take all the melons we want.”

  “It’ll serve him right,” said Peggy, delightedly. “Ol’ Dan called me a meddler onc’t — in public — an’ I’m bound t’ git even with him.”

  “Don’t betray us, sir,” pleaded Beth.

  “I can’t,” replied McNutt, frankly; “I’m in it myself, an’ we’ll jest find out what his blame-twisted ol’ fifteen-cent mellings is like.”

  Patsy was overjoyed at the success of her plot, which she
had conceived on the spur of the moment, as most clever plots are conceived. On the way home she confided to her cousins a method of securing revenge upon the agent for selling them the three copies of the “Lives of the Saints.”

  “McNutt wants to get even with Brayley, he says, and we want to get even with McNutt. I think our chances are best, don’t you?” she asked.

  And they decided to join the conspiracy.

  There was some difficulty escaping from Uncle John and the Major that night, but Patsy got them interested in a game of chess that was likely to last some hours, while Beth stole to the barn and harnessed Joe to the surrey. Soon the others slipped out and joined her, and with Patsy and Beth on the front seat and Louise Inside the canopy they drove slowly away until the sound of the horse’s feet on the stones was no longer likely to betray them.

  McNutt was waiting for them when they quietly drew up before his house. The village was dark and silent, for its inhabitants retired early to bed. By good fortune the sky was overcast with heavy clouds and not even the glimmer of a star relieved the gloom.

  They put McNutt on the back seat with Louise, cautioned him to be quiet, and then drove away. Dan Brayley’s place was two miles distant, but in answer to Peggy’s earnest inquiry if she knew the way Beth declared she could find it blind-folded. In a few moments Louise had engaged the agent in a spirited discussion of the absorbing “mystery” and so occupied his attention that he paid no heed to the direction they had taken. The back seat was hemmed in by side curtains and the canopy, so it would be no wonder if he lost all sense of direction, even had not the remarks of the girl at his side completely absorbed him.

  Beth drove slowly down the main street, up a lane, back by the lake road and along the street again; and this programme was repeated several times, until she thought a sufficient distance had been covered to convince the agent they had arrived at Brayley’s. They way was pitch dark, but the horse was sensible enough to keep in the middle of the road, so they met with no accident more than to jolt over a stone now and then.