Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  They had plenty to talk about, although this was practically their first meeting. But Susie had faithfully promised her girl friends to bring Jim over to the hotel for the dancing that evening, so she was obliged, although reluctantly, to curtail their pleasant chat and invite him to escort her to the dance.

  Jim was tremendously fond of dancing, so he accepted with alacrity. When they arrived at the ball-room of the hotel, where cottagers and guests alike were welcomed by the proprietor, they found Gladys and Mary, Betty and the heiress all eagerly awaiting them. On the floor were many couples of girls joyously dancing together, for boys of any sort were scarce indeed, and their absence could not induce the girls to forego the pleasures of the waltz and two-step. Jim promptly began to participate by dancing with Susie, as politeness required, although she was too short in stature for the big fellow and dancing was not one of her best accomplishments. He did not allow her to guess they were an awkward couple, however, and thanked her as gratefully as if he had not barely escaped being tripped a dozen times.

  Next he led out the heiress, who in addition to being pretty and graceful was an especially skillful dancer. My! how Jim did enjoy that two-step. He danced with Betty next, and with the heiress again; then with Gladys and once more with the heiress. Mary’s turn came afterward, and he really ought to have asked Susie once more; but by the time he had taken the heiress out for one final whirl the dancing was over and it was too late.

  Clara was glowing and triumphant. She had fairly monopolized the most desirable young man in Tamawaca the whole evening, and it thrilled her with delight to notice how Mary and Gladys frowned at her and shrugged their shapely shoulders, and how saucily Betty stuck up her nose when she found she could not look indifferent. But Susie only smiled cordially at her rival and told Clara she danced as prettily as any girl she had ever met.

  Then Jim took them all across to Wilder’s for an ice-cream soda — the only entertainment by which it was possible to repay the girls for his delightful evening; and if he shivered a bit when he paid the bill no one could ever have suspected it from his manner.

  “A few more of these treats,” he thought, “will curtail my vacation considerably. I must be careful, or I’ll ruin my present opportunity to have a good time.”

  You may be sure the heiress urged him to call the next day, and equally sure that he accepted the invitation. Instantly he found himself popular with all the girls, for every unattached female at Tamawaca wanted to know the handsome youth. Presently he received so many invitations to go boating and bathing and auto-riding, and for luncheons, picnics, cards and dancing parties, that almost every waking moment of his day was fully occupied.

  Throughout this social revelry the heiress clung to her conquest like grim death. However much her girl friends might accuse her of “artful selfishness and selfish artfulness” she was clever enough to charm the young man by her uniform good temper and her frank delight in his society. Jim’s heart was not mush, but he was human enough to enjoy a mild flirtation. He did not neglect other girls of his acquaintance entirely, but was most often seen in the society of the heiress; so gradually the others came to acknowledge her priority and expected only a modest share of his attention.

  To Susie Jim remained always friendly and considerate, and sometimes during that giddy first week of his vacation he would steal away to the Carleton porch to sit down for a peaceful hour with the little girl whose life he had saved. During these interviews Susie would praise Clara’s beauty and accomplishments until Jim looked at her curiously and his face grew troubled. He would admit that the heiress was “good fun,” but refrained from more enthusiastic comment.

  But there was only a week of this hero-worship. Then the sky fell, and Jim passed out of the lime-light into comparative oblivion.

  Katie Glaston came over from Chicago one day, and as she knew Gladys and Mary she was joyfully welcomed to the select circle of “the bunch.” And of course one of her first experiences was to run against Jim and Clara on the board walk. They were bound for a boat ride and the girls halted them long enough to graciously introduce the “hero” to Katie.

  She acknowledged the introduction with marked coldness.

  “Glaston?” said Jim, reminiscently; “any relation to D. B. Glaston?”

  “He is my father, sir,” said the young lady, and turned her back to speak with Betty.

  Jim raised his eyebrows slightly, smiled with quiet amusement, and then walked on beside Clara, who had noticed the snub and was angry and indignant.

  “What impudence!” she exclaimed, when they had passed out of earshot. “And from Katie Glaston, too! Why, Jim, her father is nothing more than a manager in a department store.”

  “I know,” said Jim, nodding. “He’s my chief. I’m in his department at Marshall Field’s.”

  Clara shivered and stopped short. Then she walked on more slowly, with a red face and eyes staring straight ahead.

  “Don’t joke, Mr. Ingram,” she remonstrated.

  “Oh, I’m not joking,” rejoined the young fellow, with a light laugh. “Didn’t you know? I thought I had told you that I am a mere clerk in a department store.”

  “I — I’m afraid one of my terrible headaches is coming on,” she murmured, with embarrassment. “It is so hot this afternoon. Would you mind taking me home, Mr. Ingram?”

  “Perhaps it would be better,” he said, quickly. “The sun will be fierce on the water, and a rest may save you from the headache.”

  They turned at once and retraced their steps. At the corner of Mishahaken Avenue they again passed Katie and her group of friends. The heiress marched stiffly by, but could not forbear one glance toward the group and caught Betty’s scornful smile as a consequence. Poor Clara’s humiliation was so great that she nearly sobbed outright. A clerk! A mere clerk in Marshall Field’s. And she had been devoting herself to the fellow for a whole week!

  Jim was not blind, and needed no explanation. Silently he escorted the girl to her cottage, the amused twinkle in his eye growing stronger every moment as he noted her indignation and resentment increasing. At her porch she dismissed him with a mumbled word and ran in to indulge in a good cry as a safety valve to her vexation. And the discarded youth lightly retraced his steps to the hotel, whistling reflectively as he went — which was ample proof that he did not realize how serious was the wicked imposition he had practised.

  Of course Katie had informed the other girls most fully of the fact that young Ingram was “a cheap clerk in her father’s department,” and although Gladys merrily declared it would be an added inducement for her to trade at the store, the other shrewd damsels were quick to see that such an acquaintance was quite undesirable.

  “We really have no protection from such adventurers at a summer resort,” observed Betty. “I understand now why he picked out ‘the heiress.’ Her supposed fortune interested him.”

  “Supposed, Betty?”

  “Well, she doesn’t display any moving pictures of it.”

  “We were too eager to get acquainted with a stranger, just because men were scarce,” Mary remarked, a little bitterly. “This ought to teach us a lesson, girls.”

  “Hush! Here he comes.”

  They fell silent, every pretty back turned to the walk, and Jim swung by without encountering a look or a word.

  The young man had not been a clerk for more than a year without having been forced to realize e’er now that his position debarred him from a certain class of social recognition. It must be admitted that he had purposely concealed his occupation while on this vacation, in order to enjoy a bit of feminine society, of which he was as wholesomely fond as every boy ought to be. And, being an optimistic young fellow, he now congratulated himself upon the good times he had managed to secure, instead of regretting the fact that he had finally been “found out.”

  For two days following his “discovery” he swam and walked and had a fine time in his own company, saving himself from unnecessary snubs by assisting his for
mer girl friends to avoid him. Then, one afternoon as he passed the Carleton cottage, Susie Smith ran out and seized him, urging him so cordially and unaffectedly to come in for afternoon tea that he could not well refuse.

  Mr. and Mrs. Carleton greeted their guest with so much genuine kindness that the lonely young fellow felt his welcome to be sincere, so he passed the next two hours very delightfully indeed. Really, he had not enjoyed those last two days. His nature craved a certain amount of social intercourse with nice people, and he could not be entirely happy without it.

  But it would be wrong to deceive Susie and the kindly Carletons. When he left, after accepting an invitation to an informal bridge party arranged for that evening, Mr. Carleton walked down to the post-office with him, and Jim promptly relieved himself of his secret on the way.

  But the old gentleman cut short his explanation.

  “I know, Ingram,” he said. “Susie heard the story from some of her girl friends, and it has pleased us to know you are able to enjoy a brief relaxation from your tedious and confining work. But did you not once tell me that you are a Cornell man?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Couldn’t you find a better opening than a clerkship?”

  “Not at first, Mr. Carleton. I wasn’t prepared for a profession, you see, and I have discovered that people are suspicious of the ability of boys fresh from college.”

  “How much longer does your vacation last?”

  “Until next Monday. Three days more, sir.”

  “And then you go back to work?”

  “Rested and refreshed, sir.”

  “Let us sit down a moment.” They had come to a bench, and after they were seated Jim suddenly resolved to tell the kindly old gentleman all his story. He respected Mr. Carleton very highly, not because he had achieved enormous financial success but because that success had not destroyed his generous consideration for others less fortunate. So he related his history briefly but fully, and when he had finished the elder man said:

  “I think you have been inconsiderate in dealing with your father, my boy. I remember to have met him on several occasions, and he impressed f me as being an excellent business man and a genial, gpod-natured fellow, as well. But think how much unhappiness your defection must have caused him.”

  For once Jim was crestfallen, and seeing that his words had made an impression upon the young man Mr. Carleton forebore further reproof and rose to resume his walk. He spoke pleasantly of other matters, however, and when they parted at the post-office Jim felt that the old gentleman was still his friend.

  He attended the card party that evening and had a good time. Tamawaca society is made up of many little cliques, as indeed is society everywhere, certain people being attracted to one another through congeniality or former association. So it happened that the Carleton clique was one somewhat exclusive and removed from those to which Jim had formerly been introduced, and he met with no humiliating slights. Susie treated him exactly as she had before Katie Glaston’s unfortunate arrival, and made him grateful by neither overdoing her cordiality nor referring to his humble condition in life. It was a friendly atmosphere, and put him entirely at his ease.

  The three final days of Jim’s vacation were as merry and satisfactory as the first week had been, and Susie’s charming personality grew upon him steadily, so that he had no reason to regret the companionship of Clara or her particular group of friends.

  The heiress, for her part, was amazed that Susie did not promptly cut “the clerk’s” acquaintance. “But,” she remarked to Mary and Betty, “the poor thing may not be much herself, and is glad to associate with anything masculine. Some folks, you know, dear, have no occasion to be particular.”

  Jim had intended to leave on Sunday’s boat for Chicago, that he might be at work on Monday morning. But Saturday afternoon he received an astonishing telegram from his chief, Mr. D. B. Glaston. It read: “Your services will be no longer required.”

  CHAPTER VII.

  THE MEETING.

  It did not take Jarrod long to decide that there were no grounds for Wilder’s claim that the streets and parks at Tamawaca were in his control. On the contrary they belonged entirely to the cottage and lot owners, neither Easton nor Wilder having any more legal rights thereto than the most insignificant cottager.

  They had usurped rights, however, of the most extraordinary character. In the public parks, originally reserved in the recorded plats, the partners had selected the best building locations and erected cottages upon them, which were rented at good figures. They had also sold many “lots” that were nothing less than public property to innocent or ignorant purchasers, who had in some instances built expensive houses upon them, relying confidently for protection upon the guarantee deeds Easton or Wilder had given them.

  This wholesale disregard of people’s rights had been going on for years — long before the present owners had bought Tamawaca. From his observations Jarrod concluded that the former owners, of whom there had been several sets or combinations, had all come to a realization that their vandalism had rendered their positions unsafe, for which reason they had presently shifted the burden to the shoulders of their successors, who now were Easton and Wilder. Perhaps these two men, because their predecessors had with impunity occupied public lands, had become more careless or more grasping than any of the others, for their usurpations were on a larger scale. Easton, for example, had impudently placed a cottage directly in a public street, disregarding all rights and protests.

  One day, during his rambles, Jarrod came upon a fine cottage perched high on the hill overlooking the bay. On the porch was seated an old gentleman whom the lawyer recognized as Colonel Kerry.

  “Come up and sit down,” called the colonel, hospitably.

  So Jarrod sat down to rest.

  “I’m glad to learn you’re a new resident,” said Kerry. “You have bought Lake View, I understand.”

  “Yes,” acknowledged Jarrod. “There was nothing to rent, so I had to buy a cottage or go elsewhere.”

  The colonel smiled.

  “Plenty of places to rent,” he observed.

  “Wilder said not.”

  “He may have said so. See that cottage across the way? It’s a very nice place; belongs to Grant of St. Louis; has been for rent all this spring.”

  “Oh. Wilder said it was rented. I tried to get it, you know.

  Again the colonel smiled, and his smile was the sardonic kind that is sometimes exasperating.

  “Wilder wanted to sell Lake View,” he exclaimed; “but he’s been holding the place for seventeen hundred and fifty, which is more than it’s worth. Perhaps you whittled the price down to where it belonged.”

  Jarrod did not reply. He felt rather uncomfortable under the colonel’s shrewd glance.

  “Tamawaca’s a beautiful place,” said he, glancing over the wonderful scene spread out before him — a scene with few rivals in America. Framed by the foliage of the near-by trees, Tamawaca Pool lay a hundred feet below him, its silver bosom dotted here and there with sailing craft, launches, or pudgy ferry-boats speeding on their way, while the opposite shore was lined with pretty cottages nestled in shady groves.

  “Glad you like it, sir,” said the colonel, following his gaze. “I’m fond of the place myself.”

  “But your public affairs are in a terrible condition, Colonel Kerry.”

  “I agree with you.”

  “Why don’t the people rise up, and demand their rights?” enquired Jarrod, curiously.

  “Simply because they ‘re here for rest and enjoyment, and not to get mixed up in law-suits and contentions.”

  “But their vested rights are being disregarded.”

  “To be sure. That is no secret, sir. But our cottage owners are mostly business men who come here each year for two or three months of rest and relaxation, and conditions which they would fight bitterly at home they here tamely submit to, rather than risk involving their vacations in turmoil and trouble. That’s human nature,
Mr. Jarrod.”

  “Perhaps so,” said Jarrod, doubtfully. To him a fight was recreation, but others might feel differently about it.

  “And it’s the salvation of Easton and Wilder,” continued the colonel. “As long as people can enjoy the sweet, fresh air, the grateful bathing, the fishing and boating and other recreations, they won’t bother about their rights. I feel that way myself. No man knows better than I how our people have been despoiled, for I’ve been here many years and at one time owned an interest in the place myself. But others know the truth as well as I do, and if my neighbors prefer to submit, surely I am not called upon to fight their battles for them.”

  “Why did you sell out your interest?” asked Jarrod.

  The colonel held a scrap of paper in his hands. He carefully twisted it between his fingers into a neat spiral before he replied.

  “There are two ways to make money,” said he, finally. “I favored one way and my partners the other. So I quit the business.”

  Jarrod sat silent for a time. Then he asked:

  “Does your Cottagers’ Association amount to anything?”

  “No.”

  “Then why does it exist?”

  “To save Wilder and Easton from the danger of a more serious organization. They encourage it. Once a year the cottagers meet and talk things over, and rail at their oppressors and become very indignant. Then they go home with the idea they’ve performed their full duty. Those meetings are good fun, Mr. Jarrod. Wilder always attends them and welcomes every cottager as cordially as if he were giving a party. Then he sits in a front seat and laughs heartily at the rabid attacks upon himself and his partner. The next annual meeting is tomorrow night. I advise you to go.”

  “I intend to,” said Jarrod. “By the way, how do Wilder and Easton agree with each other?”

  “Not at all. They constantly quarrel over one thing or another. Wilder resents the fact that old man Easton is pocketing two-thirds of the profits, while Easton resents Wilder’s habit of laying every unpopular act to his partner, who is therefore bitterly hated while Wilder is considered by many a good fellow. Each would be glad to get rid of the other, if that were possible, but? neither wants to be got rid of.”