“Yes. Go on.”
“Lucy had a schoolin’, an’ we worked hard to give it her, fer my land ain’t much account, nohow. An’ when she grew up she had more boys comin’ to see her than any gal this side o’ Fairview, an’ one o’ ‘em caught Lucy’s fancy. But she was too young to marry, an’ she wanted to be earnin’ money; so she got a job workin’ fer Doc Squiers, over to Elmwood. He’s the dentist there, an’ Lucy helped with the housework an’ kept the office slicked up, an’ earned ev’ry penny she got.”
He stopped here, and looked vacantly around.
Beth tried to help the old man.
“And then?” she asked, softly.
“Then come the trouble, miss. One day ol’ Mis’ Squiers, the Doc’s mother, missed a di’mon’ ring. She laid it on the mantel an’ it was gone, an’ she said as Lucy took it. Lucy didn’t take it, an’ after they’d tried to make my gal confess as she was a thief they give ‘er three days to hand up the ring or the money it was worth, or else they’d hev her arrested and sent t’ jail. Lucy didn’t take it, ye know. She jes’ couldn’t do sech a thing, natcherly.”
“I know,” said Beth, sympathetically.
“So she comes home, heartbroken, an’ told us about it, an’ we didn’t hev th’ money nuther. It were sixty dollars they wanted, or th’ ring; an’ we didn’t hev neither of ‘em.”
“Of course not.”
“Well, Tom come over thet night to see Lucy, hearin’ she was home, an’ — ”
“Who is Tom?”
“Thet’s Tom Gates, him thet — but I’m comin’ to thet, miss. Tom always loved Lucy, an’ wanted to marry her; but his folks is as poor as we are, so the young ‘uns had to wait. Tom worked at the mill over t’ Fairview — the big saw-mill where they make the lumber an’ things.”
“I know.”
“He was the bookkeeper, fer Tom had schoolin’, too; an’ he took private lessons in bookkeepin’ from ol’ Cheeseman. So he had got hired at the mill, an’ had a likely job, an’ was doin’ well. An’ when Tom heerd about Lucy’s trouble, an’ thet she had only two days left before goin’ to jail, he up an’ says: ‘I’ll get the money, Lucy: don’ you worry a bit.’ ‘Oh, Tom!’ says she, ‘hev you got sixty dollars saved already?’ ‘I’ve got it, Lucy,’ says he, ‘an’ I’ll go over tomorrow an’ pay Doc Squiers. Don’ you worry any more. Forget all about it.’ Well o’ course, miss, that helped a lot. Nell an’ Lucy both felt the disgrace of the thing, but it wouldn’t be a public disgrace, like goin’ to jail; so we was all mighty glad Tom had that sixty dollars.”
“It was very fortunate,” said Beth, filling in another pause.
“The nex’ day Tom were as good as his word. He paid Doc Squiers an’ got a receipt an’ giv it to Lucy. Then we thought th’ trouble was over, but it had on’y just begun. Monday mornin’ Tom was arrested over t’ the mill fer passin’ a forged check an’ gettin’ sixty dollars on it. Lucy was near frantic with grief. She walked all the way to Fairview, an’ they let her see Tom in the jail. He tol’ her it was true he forged th’ check, but he did it to save her. He was a man an’ it wouldn’t hurt fer him to go to jail so much as it would a girl. He said he was glad he did it, an’ didn’t mind servin’ a sentence in prison. I think, miss, as Tom meant thet — ev’ry word uv it. But Lucy broke down under the thing an’ raved an’ cried, an’ nuther Nell ner I could do anything with her. She said she’d ruined Tom’s life an’ all thet, an’ she didn’t want to live herself. Then she took sick, an’ Nell an’ I nursed her as careful as we could. How’n the wurld she ever got away we can’t make out, nohow.”
“Did she get away?” asked the girl, noting that the old man’s eyes were full of tears and his lips trembling.
“Yes, miss. She’s bin gone over ten days, now, an’ we don’t even know where to look fer her; our girl — our poor Lucy. She ain’t right in her head, ye know, or she’d never a done it. She’d never a left us like this in th’ world. ‘Taint like our Lucy.”
Kenneth had turned around on his stool and was regarding old Will Rogers earnestly, brush and pallet alike forgotten. Beth was trying to keep the tears out of her own eyes, for the old man’s voice was even more pathetic than his words.
“Ten days ago!” said Kenneth. “And she hasn’t been found yet?”
“We can’t trace her anywhere, an’ Nell has broke down at las’, an’ don’t do much but cry. It’s hard, sir — I can’t bear to see Nell cry. She’d sich high sperrits, onct.”
“Where’s the boy Tom?” asked Kenneth, somewhat gruffly.
“He’s in the jail yet, waitin’ to be tried. Court don’t set till next week, they say.”
“And where do you live, Rogers?”
“Five miles up the Fairview road. ‘Taint much of a place — Nell says I’ve always bin a shif’les lot, an’ I guess it’s true. Yesterday your hired men painted all the front o’ my fence — painted it white — not only where th’ signs was, but th’ whole length of it. We didn’t ask it done, but they jes’ done it. I watched ‘em, an’ Nell says if we on’y had th’ money thet was wasted on thet paint an’ labor, we might find our Lucy. ‘It’s a shame,’ says Nell, ‘all thet ‘lection money bein’ thrown away on paint when it might save our poor crazy child.’ I hope it ain’t wrong, sir; but thet’s what I thought, too. So we laid plans fer me to come here today. Ef I kin get a-hold o’ any o’ thet money honest, I want to do it.”
“Have you got a horse?” asked Kenneth.
“Not now. I owned one las’ year, but he died on me an’ I can’t get another nohow.”
“Did you walk here?” asked Beth.
“Yes, miss; o’ course. I’ve walked the hull county over a-tryin’ to find Lucy. I don’ mind the walking much.”
There was another pause, while old Will Rogers looked anxiously at the boy and the girl, and they looked at each other. Then Beth took out her purse.
“I want to hire your services to help us in the election,” she said, briskly. “I’ll furnish you a horse and buggy and you can drive around and talk with people and try to find Lucy at the same time. This twenty dollars is to help you pay expenses. You needn’t account for it; just help us as much as you can.”
The old man straightened up and his eyes filled again.
“Nell said if it was a matter o’ charity I mustn’t take a cent,” he observed, in a low voice.
‘“It isn’t charity. It’s business. And now that we know your story we mean to help you find your girl. Anyone would do that, you know. Tell me, what is Lucy like?”
“She’s like Nell used to be.”
“But we don’t know your wife. Describe Lucy as well as you can. Is she tall?”
“Middlin’, miss.”
“Light or dark?”
“Heh?”
“Is her hair light or dark colored?”
“Middlin’; jes’ middlin’, miss.”
“Well, is she stout or thin?”
“I should say sorter betwixt an’ between, miss.”
“How old is Lucy?”
“Jes’ turned eighteen, miss.”
“Never mind, Beth,” interrupted the boy; “you won’t learn much from old Will’s description. But we’ll see what can be done tomorrow. Call James and have him sent home in the rig he’s going to use. It seems to me you’re disposing rather freely of my horses and carts.”
“Yes, Ken. You’ve nothing to say about your belongings just now. But if you object to this plan — ”
“I don’t. The girl must be found, and her father is more likely to find her than a dozen other searchers. He shall have the rig and welcome.”
So it was that Will Rogers drove back to his heartbroken wife in a smart top-buggy, with twenty dollars in his pocket and a heart full of wonder and thanksgiving.
CHAPTER X
The Forged Check
Kenneth and Beth refrained from telling the other girls or Uncle John of old Will Rogers’s visit, but they got Mr. Watson in the library and questi
oned him closely about the penalty for forging a check.
It was a serious crime indeed, Mr. Watson told them, and Tom Gates bade fair to serve a lengthy term in state’s prison as a consequence of his rash act.
“But it was a generous act, too,” said Beth.
“I can’t see it in that light,” said the old lawyer. “It was a deliberate theft from his employers to protect a girl he loved. I do not doubt the girl was unjustly accused. The Squierses are a selfish, hard-fisted lot, and the old lady, especially, is a well known virago. But they could not have proven a case against Lucy, if she was innocent, and all their threats of arresting her were probably mere bluff. So this boy was doubly foolish in ruining himself to get sixty dollars to pay an unjust demand.”
“He was soft-hearted and impetuous,” said Beth; “and, being in love, he didn’t stop to count the cost.”
“That is no excuse, my dear,” declared Mr. Watson. “Indeed there is never an excuse for crime. The young man is guilty, and he must suffer the penalty.”
“Is there no way to save him?” asked Kenneth.
“If the prosecution were withdrawn and the case settled with the victim of the forged check, then the young man would be allowed his freedom. But under the circumstances I doubt if such an arrangement could be made.”
“We’re going to try it, anyhow,” was the prompt decision.
So as soon as breakfast was over the next morning Beth and Kenneth took one of the automobiles, the boy consenting unwillingly to this sort of locomotion because it would save much time. Fairview was twelve miles away, but by ten o’clock they drew up at the county jail.
They were received in the little office by a man named Markham, who was the jailer. He was a round-faced, respectable appearing fellow, but his mood was distinctly unsociable.
“Want to see Tom Gates, eh? Well! what for?” he demanded.
“We wish to talk with him,” answered Kenneth.
“Talk! what’s the good? You’re no friend of Tom Gates. I can’t be bothered this way, anyhow.”
“I am Kenneth Forbes, of Elmhurst. I’m running for Representative on the Republican ticket,” said Kenneth, quietly.
“Oh, say! that’s different,” observed Markham, altering his demeanor. “You mustn’t mind my being gruff and grumpy, Mr. Forbes. I’ve just stopped smoking a few days ago, and it’s got on my nerves something awful!”
“May we see Gates at once?” asked Kenneth.
“Sure-ly! I’ll take you to his cell, myself. It’s just shocking how such a little thing as stoppin’ smoking will rile up a fellow. Come this way, please.”
They followed the jailer along a succession of passages.
“Smoked ever sence I was a boy, you know, an’ had to stop last week because Doc said it would kill me if I didn’t,” remarked the jailer, leading the way. “Sometimes I’m that yearning for a smoke I’m nearly crazy, an’ I dunno which is worst, dyin’ one way or another. This is Gates’ cell — the best in the shop.”
He unlocked the door, and called:
“Here’s visitors, Tom.”
“Thank you, Mr. Markham,” replied a quiet voice, as a young man came forward from the dim interior of the cell. “How are you feeling, today?”
“Worse, Tom; worse ‘n ever,” replied the jailer, gloomily.
“Well, stick it out, old man; don’t give in.”
“I won’t, Tom. Smokin’ ‘ll kill me sure, an’ there’s a faint hope o’ livin’ through this struggle to give it up. This visitor is Mr. Forbes of Elmhurst, an’ the young lady is — ”
“Miss DeGraf,” said Kenneth, noticing the boy’s face critically, as he stood where the light from the passage fell upon it. “Will you leave us alone, please, Mr. Markham?”
“Sure-ly, Mr. Forbes. You’ve got twenty minutes according to regulations. I’ll come and get you then. Sorry we haven’t any reception room in the jail. All visits has to be made in the cells.”
Then he deliberately locked Kenneth and Beth in with the forger, and retreated along the passage.
“Sit down, please,” said Gates, in a cheerful and pleasant voice. “There’s a bench here.”
“We’ve come to inquire about your case, Gates,” said Kenneth. “It seems you have forged a check.”
“Yes, sir, I plead guilty, although I’ve been told I ought not to confess. But the fact is that I forged the check and got the money, and I’m willing to stand the consequences.”
“Why did you do it?” asked Beth.
He was silent and turned his face away.
A fresh, wholesome looking boy, was Tom Gates, with steady gray eyes, an intelligent forehead, but a sensitive, rather weak mouth. He was of sturdy, athletic build and dressed neatly in a suit that was of coarse material but well brushed and cared for.
Beth thought his appearance pleasing and manly. Kenneth decided that he was ill at ease and in a state of dogged self-repression.
“We have heard something of your story,” said Kenneth, “and are interested in it. But there is no doubt you have acted very foolishly.”
“Do you know Lucy, sir?” asked the young man.
“No.”
“Lucy is very proud. The thing was killing her, and I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t stop to think whether it was foolish or not. I did it; and I’m glad I did.”
“You have made her still more unhappy,” said Beth, gently.
“Yes; she’ll worry about me, I know. I’m disgraced for life; but I’ve saved Lucy from any disgrace, and she’s young. She’ll forget me before I’ve served my term, and — and take up with some other young fellow.”
“Would you like that?” asked Beth.
“No, indeed,” he replied, frankly. “But it will be best that way. I had to stand by Lucy — she’s so sweet and gentle, and so sensitive. I don’t say I did right. I only say I’d do the same thing again.”
“Couldn’t her parents have helped her?” inquired Kenneth.
“No. Old Will is a fine fellow, but poor and helpless since Mrs. Rogers had her accident.”
“Oh, did she have an accident?” asked Beth.
“Yes. Didn’t you know? She’s blind.”
“Her husband didn’t tell us that,” said the girl.
“He was fairly prosperous before that, for Mrs. Rogers was an energetic and sensible woman, and kept old Will hard at work. One morning she tried to light the fire with kerosene, and lost her sight. Then Rogers wouldn’t do anything but lead her around, and wait upon her, and the place went to rack and ruin.”
“I understand now,” said Beth.
“Lucy could have looked after her mother,” said young Bates, “but old Will was stubborn and wouldn’t let her. So the girl saw something must be done and went to work. That’s how all the trouble came about.”
He spoke simply, but paced up and down the narrow cell in front of them. It was evident that his feelings were deeper than he cared to make evident.
“Whose name did you sign to the check?” asked Kenneth.
“That of John E. Marshall, the manager of the mill. He is supposed to sign all the checks of the concern. It’s a stock company, and rich. I was bookkeeper, so it was easy to get a blank check and forge the signature. As regards my robbing the company, I’ll say that I saved them a heavy loss one day. I discovered and put out a fire that would have destroyed the whole plant. But Marshall never even thanked me. He only discharged the man who was responsible for the fire.”
“How long ago were you arrested?” asked Beth.
“It’s nearly two weeks now. But I’ll have a trial in a few days, they say. My crime is so serious that the circuit judge has to sit on the case.”
“Do you know where Lucy is?”
“She’s at home, I suppose. I haven’t heard from her since the day she came here to see me — right after my arrest.”
They did not think best to enlighten him at that time. It was better for him to think the girl unfeeling than to know the truth.
“
I’m going to see Mr. Marshall,” said Kenneth, “and discover what I can do to assist you.”
“Thank you, sir. It won’t be much, but I’m grateful to find a friend. I’m guilty, you know, and there’s no one to blame but myself.”
They left him then, for the jailer arrived to unlock the door, and escort them to the office.
“Tom’s a very decent lad,” remarked the jailer, on the way. “He ain’t a natural criminal, you know; just one o’ them that gives in to temptation and is foolish enough to get caught. I’ve seen lots of that kind in my day. You don’t smoke, do you, Mr. Forbes?”
“No, Mr. Markham.”
“Then don’t begin it; or, if you do, never try to quit. It’s — it’s awful, it is. And it ruins a man’s disposition.”
The mill was at the outskirts of the town. It was a busy place, perhaps the busiest in the whole of the Eighth District, and in it were employed a large number of men. The office was a small brick edifice, separated from the main buildings, in which the noise of machinery was so great that one speaking could scarcely be heard. The manager was in, Kenneth and Beth learned, but could not see them until he had signed the letters he had dictated for the noon mail.
So they sat on a bench until a summons came to admit them to Mr. Marshall’s private office.
He looked up rather ungraciously, but motioned them to be seated.
“Mr. Forbes, of Elmhurst?” he asked, glancing at the card Kenneth had sent in.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve been bothered already over your election campaign,” resumed the manager, arranging his papers in a bored manner. “Some girl has been here twice to interview my men and I have refused to admit her. You may as well understand, sir, that I stand for the Democratic candidate, and have no sympathy with your side.”
“That doesn’t interest me, especially, sir,” answered Kenneth, smiling. “I’m not electioneering just now. I’ve come to talk with you about young Gates.”
“Oh. Well, sir, what about him?”
“I’m interested in the boy, and want to save him from prosecution.”
“He’s a forger, Mr. Forbes; a deliberate criminal.”
“I admit that. But he’s very young, and his youth is largely responsible for his folly.”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 439
