CHAPTER I
AN UNHERALDED CHAMPION
Ted Turner lived at Freeman's Falls, a sleepy little town on the bankof a small New Hampshire river. There were cotton mills in the town; infact, had there not been probably no town would have existed. The millshad not been attracted to the town; the town had arisen because of themills. The river was responsible for the whole thing, for its swiftcurrent and foaming cascades had brought the mills, and the mills inturn had brought the village.
Ted's father was a shipping clerk in one of the factories and histwo older sisters were employed there also. Some day Ted himselfexpected to enter the great brick buildings, as the boys of the townusually did, and work his way up. Perhaps in time he might become asuperintendent or even one of the firm. Who could tell? Such miraclesdid happen. Not that Ted Turner preferred a life in the cotton millsto any other career. Not at all. Deep down in his soul he detestedthe humming, panting, noisy place with its clatter of wheels, itsmonotonous piecework, and its limited horizon. But what choice had he?The mills were there and the only alternative before him. It was themills or nothing for people seldom came to live at Freeman's Falls ifthey did not intend to enter the factories of Fernald and Company. Itwas Fernald and Company that had led his father to sell the tumble-downfarm in Vermont and move with his family to New Hampshire.
"There is no money in farming," announced he, after the death of Ted'smother. "Suppose we pull up stakes and go to some mill town where wecan all find work."
And therefore, without consideration for personal preferences, they hadlooked up mill towns and eventually settled on Freeman's Falls, notbecause they particularly liked its location but because labor wasneeded there. A very sad decision it was for Ted who had passionatelyloved the old farm on which he had been born, the half-blind grayhorse, the few hens, and the lean Jersey cattle that his fatherasserted ate more than they were worth. To be cooped up in amanufacturing center after having had acres of open country to roamover was not an altogether joyous prospect. Would there be anychestnut, walnut, or apple trees at Freeman's Falls, he wondered.
Alas, the question was soon answered. Within the village there werealmost no trees at all except a few sickly elms and maples whosefoliage was pale for want of sunshine and grimy with smoke. In fact,there was not much of anything in the town save the long dingyfactories that bordered the river; the group of cheap and gaudy shopson the main street; and rows upon rows of wooden houses, all identicalin design, walling in the highway. It was not a spot where green thingsflourished. There was not room for anything to grow and if there hadbeen the soot from the towering chimneys would soon have settled uponany venturesome leaf or flower and quickly shrivelled it beneath acloak of cinders. Even the river was coated with a scum of oil andrefuse that poured from the waste pipes of the factories into thestream and washed up along the shores which might otherwise have beenfair and verdant.
Of course, if one could get far enough away there was beauty in plentyfor in the outlying country stretched vistas of splendid pines, fieldslush with ferns and flowers, and the unsullied span of the river, wherein all its mountain-born purity it rushed gaily down toward thevillage. Here, well distant from the manufacturing atmosphere, were thehomes of the Fernalds who owned the mills, the great estates of Mr.Lawrence Fernald and Mr. Clarence Fernald who every day rolled to theiroffices in giant limousines. Everybody in Freeman's Falls knew them bysight,--the big boss, as he was called, and his married son; andeverybody thought how lucky they were to own the mills and take themoney instead of doing the work. At least, that was what gossip saidthey did.
Unquestionably it was much nicer to live at Aldercliffe, the statelycolonial mansion of Mr. Lawrence Fernald; or at Pine Lea, the home ofMr. Clarence Fernald, where sweeping lawns, bright awnings, gardens,conservatories, and flashing fountains made a wonderland of the place.Troupes of laughing guests seemed always to be going and coming at bothhouses and there were horses and motor-cars, tennis courts, a golfcourse, and canoes and launches moored at the edge of the river.Freeman's Falls was a very stupid spot when contrasted with all thisjollity. It must be far pleasanter, too, when winter came to hurry offto New York for the holidays or to Florida or California, as Mr.Clarence Fernald frequently did.
With money enough to do whatever one pleased, how could a person helpbeing happy? And yet there were those who declared that both Mr.Lawrence and Mr. Clarence Fernald would have bartered their fortunes tohave had the crippled heir to the Fernald millions strong like otherboys. Occasionally Ted had caught a glimpse of this Laurie Fernald, afourteen-year-old lad with thin, colorless face and eyes that werehaunting with sadness. In the village he passed as "the poor littlechap" or as "poor Master Laurie" and the employees always doffed theircaps to him because they pitied him. Whether one liked Mr. Fernald orMr. Clarence or did not, every one united in being sorry for Mr.Laurie. Perhaps the invalid realized this; at any rate, he never failedto return the greetings accorded him with a smile so gentle and sweetthat it became a pleasure in the day of whomsoever received it.
It was said at the factories that the reason the Fernalds went to NewYork and Florida and California was because of Mr. Laurie; that was thereason, too, why so many celebrated doctors kept coming to Pine Lea,and why both Mr. Fernald and Mr. Clarence were often so sharp andunreasonable. In fact, almost everything the Fernalds did or did notdo, said or did not say, could be traced back to Mr. Laurie. From themoment the boy was born--nay, long before--both Mr. Lawrence Fernaldfor whom he was named, and his father, Mr. Clarence Fernald, hadplanned how he should inherit the great mills and carry on the businessthey had founded. For years they had talked and talked of what shouldhappen when Mr. Laurie grew up. And then had come the sudden andterrible illness, and after weeks of anxiety everybody realized that ifMr. Laurie lived he would be fortunate, and that he would never be ableto carry on any business at all.
In what hushed tones the townspeople talked of the tragedy and how theyspeculated on what the Fernalds would do _now_. And how surprised thesuperintendent of one of the mills (who, by the way, had six husky boysof his own) had been to have Mr. Lawrence Fernald bridle with rage whenhe said he was sorry for him. A proud old man was Mr. Fernald, senior.He did not fancy being pitied, as his employees soon found out. PossiblyMr. Clarence Fernald did not like it any better but whether he did ornot he at least had the courtesy not to show his feelings.
Thus the years had passed and Mr. Laurie had grown from childhood toboyhood. He could now ride about in a motor-car if lifted into it; buthe could still walk very little, although specialists had not given uphope that perhaps in time he might be able to do so. There was a rumorthat he was strapped into a steel jacket which he was forced to wearcontinually, and the mill hands commented on its probable discomfortand wondered how the boy could always keep so even-tempered. For it wasunavoidable that the large force of servants from Aldercliffe and PineLea should neighbor back and forth with the townsfolk and in this waymany a tale of Mr. Laurie's rare disposition reached the village. Andeven had not these stories been rife, anybody could easily have guessedthe patience and sweetness of Mr. Laurie's nature from his smile.
Among the employees of Fernald and Company he was popularly known asthe Little Master and between him and them there existed a friendlinesswhich neither his father nor his grandfather had ever been able to callout. The difference was that for Mr. Lawrence Fernald the men did onlywhat they were paid to do; for Mr. Clarence they did fully what theywere paid to do; and for Mr. Laurie they would gladly have done whatthey were paid to do and a great deal more.
"The poor lad!" they murmured one to another. "The poor little chap!"
Of course it followed that no one envied Mr. Laurie his wealth. Howcould they? One might perhaps envy Mr. Fernald, senior, or Mr.Clarence; but never Mr. Laurie even though the Fernald fortune and allthe houses and gardens, with their miles of acreage, as well as thevast cotton mills would one day be his. Even Ted Turner, poor as hewas, and having only the prospect of the factories a
head of him, neverthought of wishing to exchange his lot in life for that of Mr. Laurie.He would rather toil for Fernald and Company to his dying day than bethis weak, dependent creature who was compelled to be carried about bythose stronger than himself.
Nevertheless, in spite of this, there were intervals when Ted did wishhe might exchange houses with Mr. Laurie. Not that Ted Turner covetedthe big colonial mansion, or its fountains, its pergolas, its widelawns; but he did love gardens, flowers, trees, and sky, and of thesehe had very little. He was, to be sure, fortunate in living on theoutskirts of the village where he had more green and blue than did mostof the mill workers. Still, it was not like Vermont and the unfencedmiles of country to which he had been accustomed. A small tenement inFreeman's Falls, even though it had steam heat and running water, wasin his opinion a poor substitute for all that had been left behind.
But Ted's father liked the new home better, far better, and so did Ruthand Nancy, his sisters. Many a time the boy heard his fathercongratulating himself that he was clear of the farm and no longer hadto get up in the cold of the early morning to feed and water the stockand do the milking. And Ruth and Nancy echoed these felicitations andrejoiced that now there was neither butter to churn nor hens to carefor.
Even Ted was forced to confess that Freeman's Falls had its advantages.Certainly the school was better, and as his father had resolved to keephim in it at least a part of the high-school term, Ted felt himself tobe a lucky boy. He liked to study. He did not like all studies, ofcourse. For example, he detested Latin, French, and history; but herevelled in shop-work, mathematics, and the sciences. There was nothingmore to his taste than putting things together, especially electricalthings; and already he had tried at home several crude experiments withimprovised telegraphs, telephones, and wireless contrivances. Doubtlesshe would have had many more such playthings had not materials cost somuch, money been so scarce, and Ruth and Nancy so timid. They did notlike mysterious sparks and buzzings in the pantry and about the kitchenand told him so in no uncertain terms.
"The next thing you know you'll be setting the house afire!" Ruth hadasserted. "Besides, we've no room for wires and truck around here.You'll have to take your clutter somewhere else."
And so Ted had obediently bundled his precious possessions into theroom where he slept with his father only to be as promptly ejected fromthat refuge also.
"You can't be spreadin' wires an' jars an' things round my room!"protested Mr. Turner with annoyance.
"You can't be spreadin' wires an' jars an' things roundmy room!" protested Mr. Turner. _Page_ 9.]
It did not seem to occur to him that it was Ted's room as well,--theonly room the boy had.
Altogether, his treasures found no welcome anywhere in the tinyapartment, and at length convinced of this, Ted took everything downand stowed it away in a box beneath the bed, henceforth confining hisscientific adventures to the school laboratories where they mightpossibly have remained forever but for Mr. Wharton, the manager of thefarms at Aldercliffe and Pine Lea.
Ted and the Telephone Page 2
