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CHAPTER III
A TALK OF THE FUTURE
The girls screamed and the boys uttered various cries and words of advice. Dave leaned forward, to jam on the hand-brake, but his uncle was ahead of him in the action. The foot-brake was already down, and from the rear wheels came a shrill squeaking, as the bands gripped the hubs. But the hill was a steep one and the big touring car, well laden, continued to move downward, although but slowly.
“Keep over! Keep over to the right!” yelled Dunston Porter, to the driver of the buggy. But the man was fully as excited as his horse, and he continued to saw on the reins, until the turnout occupied the very center of the narrow and torn-up highway.
It was a time of peril, and a man less used to critical moments than Dunston Porter might have lost his head completely. But this old traveler and hunter, who had faced grizzly bears in the West and lions in Africa, managed to keep cool. He saw a chance to pass on the right of the turnout ahead, and like a flash he let go on the two brakes and turned on a little power. Forward bounded the big car, the right wheels on the very edge of a water-gully. The left mud-guards scraped the buggy, and the man driving it uttered a yell of fright. Then the touring car went on, to come to a halt at the bottom of the hill, a short distance away.
“Hello!” exclaimed Dave, as he looked back at the turnout that had caused the trouble. “It’s Mr. Poole!”
“You mean Nat’s father?” queried Phil.
“Yes.”
“Hi, you! What do you mean by running into me?” stormed the money-lender, savagely, as he presently managed to get his steed under control and came down beside the touring car.
“What do you mean by blocking the road, Mr. Poole?” returned Dunston Porter, coldly.
“I didn’t block the road!”
“You certainly did. If we had run into you, it would have been your fault.”
“Nonsense! You passed me on the wrong side.”
“Because you didn’t give me room to pass on the other side.”
“And your horn scared my horse.”
“I don’t see how that is my fault. Your horse ought to be used to auto-horns by this time.”
“You’ve scraped all the paint off my carriage, and I had it painted only last week,” went on the money-lender, warming up. “It’s an outrage how you auto fellows think you own the whole road!”
“I won’t discuss the matter now, Mr. Poole,” answered Dunston Porter, stiffly. “I think it was your fault entirely. But if you think otherwise, come and see me when I get back from this trip, which will be in four days.” And without waiting for more words, Dave’s uncle started up the touring car, and Aaron Poole was soon left far behind.
“If he isn’t a peach!” murmured Roger, slangily. “It’s easy to see where Nat gets his meanness from. He is simply a chip off the old block.”
“He’s a pretty big chip,” returned Phil, dryly.
“I don’t see how he can blame us,” said Dave. “We simply couldn’t pass him on the left. If we had tried, we’d have gone in the ditch sure. And the scraping we did to his buggy amounts to next to nothing.”
“I am not afraid of what he’ll do,” said Dunston Porter. “A couple of dollars will fix up those scratches, and if he is so close-fisted I’ll foot the bill. But I’ll give him a piece of my mind for blocking the road.”
“But his horse was frightened, Uncle Dunston,” said Laura.
“A little, yes, but if Poole hadn’t got scared himself he might have drawn closer to the side of the road. I think he was more frightened than the horse.”
“He certainly was,” declared Phil. “When we scraped the buggy his face got as white as chalk, and he almost dropped the lines.”
“He’ll hate all of us worse than ever for this,” was Dave’s comment.
“I am not afraid of him,” answered the uncle.
On and on sped the big touring car, and soon the stirring incident on the road was, for the time being, forgotten. Crumville had been left far behind, and now they passed through one pretty village after another. On the broad, level stretches Dunston Porter allowed the boys to “spell” him at the wheel, for each knew how to run an automobile.
“Twenty miles more to Ryeport!” cried Dave, as they came to a crossroads and read a signboard.
“And it’s just half-past five,” added the senator’s son, consulting his watch. “We’ll get there in plenty of time to wash up and have a fine dinner.”
“And, say, maybe we won’t do a thing to that table!” murmured Phil, smacking his lips.
“Oh, you boys are always hungry,” was Jessie’s comment.
“Well, you know, we’ve got to grow,” answered Phil, with a grin.
“I think I’ll enjoy eating after such a long ride,” said Laura. “The fresh air certainly does give one an appetite.”
“I think I’ll order bread and milk for all hands,” remarked Dunston Porter, with a sly smile.
“Bread and milk!” murmured Jessie, in dismay.
“Sure. It’s famous for your complexion.”
“A juicy steak for mine!” cried Dave. “Steak, and vegetables, and salad, and pudding or pie.”
“Well, I guess that will do for me, too,” said his uncle, simply. “You see, I suppose I’ll have to eat to keep you company,” and he smiled again.
“Uncle Dunston, what a tease you are!” murmured Laura. “Your appetite is just as good as that of any of the boys.”
Dave was at the wheel, and he sent the touring car along the smooth highway at a speed of twenty miles an hour. He would have liked to drive faster, but his uncle would not permit this.
“The law says twenty miles an hour, and I believe in obeying the law,” said Dunston Porter. “Besides, you can never tell what may happen, and it is best to have your car under control.”
The truth of the latter remark was demonstrated less than five minutes later, when they came to another crossroads. Without warning of any kind, a racing car came rushing swiftly from one direction and a coach from the other. Dave could not cross ahead of the racing car, and the approach of the coach from the opposite direction cut him off from turning with the car. So all that was left to do was to jam on both brakes, which he did, and then, as the racing car shot past, he released the wheels and went on, just ahead of the coach. But it was a narrow escape all around, and the girls and Roger leaped to their feet in alarm.
“Phew! see them streak along!” was Phil’s comment, gazing after the racing car, which was fast disappearing in a cloud of dust.
“They ought to be arrested!” was Laura’s comment. “Why, we might have been smashed up!”
“Good work, Davy!” cried Dunston Porter. “You did just the right thing.”
“Even if that coach driver is shaking his fist at us, eh?” answered Dave, and he bobbed his head in the direction of the coach, which had hauled up but was now going on.
“If you had been going a little faster it would have been all up with us,” said Phil, with a grave shake of his head.
“Let me take the wheel now,” said Dunston Porter, quietly, and Dave slid out of the driving-seat willingly enough, for the excitement had left him somewhat limp.
Half-past six found them in Ryeport, and a few minutes later they rolled up to the National Hotel, and the girls and boys got out, while Mr. Porter took the car around to the garage. They had sent word ahead for rooms, and all soon felt at home. The girls had a fine apartment on the second floor, front, with Dunston Porter next to them, and the three boys in a big room across the hallway.
When the young people assembled in the dining-room, after brushing and washing up, a surprise awaited them. They had a table to themselves, ordered by Dunston Porter, and decorated with a big bouquet of roses and carnations. A full course dinner was served.
“Oh, this is lovely!” cried Jessie, as she caught sight of the flowers.
“Just grand, Uncle Dunston!” added Laura. And then she added, in a lower voice: “If there wasn’t such a crowd, I’d give you a big hug for this!”
“And so would I,” added Jessie.
“All right, that’s one you owe me, girls, remember that,” answered the old hunter and traveler.
They spent over an hour at the table, enjoying the bountiful spread provided, and telling stories and jokes. The boys were in their element, and kept the girls laughing almost constantly.
“We’ll be back to the grind day after to-morrow, so we had better make the best of it,” was the way Dave expressed himself.
After the meal, Dunston Porter went out to give directions concerning the touring car, and Phil accompanied him. This left our hero and Roger alone with the two girls. They sought out the hotel parlor, which they found deserted, and Dave and Jessie walked to the far end, where there was an alcove, while Roger and Laura went to the piano.
“Dave, won’t it be hard work to go back to the grind, as you call it?” questioned Jessie, as both stood looking out of the window.
“In a way, yes, but it’s what a fellow has got to expect, Jessie,” he returned. “A chap can’t get an education without working for it.”
“I trust you pass with high honors,” the girl went on, with a hopeful look into his face.
“I’ll try my best. Of course, I’ve lost some time – going to Cave Island and all that. Maybe I’ll flunk.”
“Oh, Dave, that would be – be–” Jessie could not go on.
“As soon as I get back I’m going to buckle down, and get to be a regular greasy grind, as they call ’em. I’ve made up my mind to one thing I’m afraid the others won’t like.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to cut the baseball nine, if I can. It takes too much time from our studies.”
“Won’t that be easy?”
“I don’t know. I made quite a record, you know. Maybe the crowd will insist on it that I play. Of course, I don’t want to see Oak Hall lose any games. But I guess they’ll have players enough – with all the new students coming in.”
“And if you do graduate, Dave, what then?” asked Jessie, after a pause. This question had been on her mind a long time, but she had hesitated about asking it.
“To tell the honest truth, Jessie, I don’t know,” answered Dave, very slowly. “I’ve thought and thought, but I can’t seem to hit the right thing. Your father and Professor Potts seem to think I ought to go to college, and I rather incline that way myself. But then I think of going to some technical institution, and of taking up civil engineering, or mining, or something like that. Uncle Dunston knew a young fellow who became a civil engineer and went to South America and laid out a railroad across the Andes Mountains, and he knew another young fellow who took up mining and made a big thing of a mine in Montana. That sort of thing appeals to me, and it appeals to Dad, too.”
“But it would take you so far from home, Dave!” and Jessie caught hold of his arm as she spoke, as if afraid he was going to leave that minute.
“I know it, but – er – but – would you care, Jessie?” he stammered.
“Care? Of course, I’d care!” she replied, and suddenly began to blush. “We’d all care.”
“But would you care very much?” he insisted, lowering his voice. “Because, if you would, I’d tell you something.”
“What would you tell me?” she asked.
“The young fellow who went to South America as a civil engineer took his wife with him.”
“Oh, Dave!” and for the moment Jessie turned her head away.
“If I went so far off, I’d want somebody with me, Jessie. A fellow would be awfully lonely otherwise.”
“I – I suppose that would be so.”
“If you thought enough of a fellow, would you go to South America, or Montana, or Africa with him?” And Dave looked Jessie full in the face.
“I’d go to the end of the world with him,” she answered, with sudden boldness.
Then Mr. Porter and Phil came back, and the conversation became general.
CHAPTER IV
MR. JOB HASKERS’S DOINGS
“And now for Oak Hall!”
It was Dave who uttered the words, the next morning, after a good night’s rest and an early breakfast. The big touring car had been brought around by Dunston Porter, and the young folks had climbed in and stowed away the limited baggage they carried. All felt in excellent spirits, and Dave was particularly gay. What Jessie had said the evening before, and the way she had said it, still hung in his mind. She was a splendid girl, and if it was in him to do it, he was going to make himself worthy of her. He was still young, so he did not dwell long over these things, but his regard for her was entirely proper, and likely to make him do his best in his endeavors.
Phil had asked for permission to run the car for a while and took the wheel as soon as Ryeport was left behind. The shipowner’s son knew how to handle an automobile almost as well as any of them, but he had one fault, which was, that he did not steer out of the way of sharp stones and like things calculated to bring on punctures and blow-outs.
“My, what a glorious morning!” exclaimed Laura, as they bowled along over the smooth roads.
“Couldn’t be better,” answered Roger. “Wish we were going on all day!” he added.
“So do I,” added Dave. They expected to reach Oakdale by noon, get dinner there, and then run up to the school.
“Not too fast, Phil,” warned Mr. Porter, as the shipowner’s son “let her out a bit,” as he expressed it. “You don’t know what sort of a road you’ve got beyond the turn.”
“We’ll soon be coming to some roads we know,” answered Phil. “Those we used to travel on our bicycles.”
They passed through several towns and villages. Then they reached a crossroads, and here some men and a steam roller were at work, and the road was closed. One of the workmen motioned for them to take the road on the left.
“Must be a road around,” said Dunston Porter. “It doesn’t look very good, but you can try it. Shall I take the wheel?”
“Oh, I can run the car easily enough,” answered Phil.
For half a mile they went on without trouble, through a rolling country where the scenery was very fine. Then they reached a point where the road was full of loose stones.
“Be careful!” cried Mr. Porter.
They rolled on, past a pretty farmhouse and some barns. They were just on the point of making another turn when there came a sudden bang! from under the car, and the turnout swayed to one side of the road. Phil threw out the clutch and put on the brakes, and they came to a standstill. Then the driver shut off the engine.
“What is the matter?” queried Jessie.
“A blow-out, I guess,” answered Dave. “We’ll soon see.”
Dunston Porter and the boys got down to the ground and made an examination. The shoe of the rear left wheel had been badly cut by the sharp stones and the inner tube had been blown out through the cut.
“We’ll have to put on one of the other shoes,” said Mr. Porter. They carried two with them, besides half a dozen inner tubes.
“All right, here is where we get to work!” cried Dave. “Somebody time us, please,” and he started in by getting off his coat and cuffs and donning a working jumper. His uncle quickly followed suit, while Phil and Roger got out the lifting-jack and some tools.
The girls stood watching the proceedings for a while and then strolled back towards the farmhouse. The boys and Mr. Porter became so engrossed in putting on a new inner tube and a shoe that they did not notice their absence. The new shoe fitted the rim of the wheel rather tightly and they had all they could do to get it into place.
“Phew! this is work and no mistake!” murmured Roger. “I wonder why they can’t get tires that won’t blow out or go down.”
“Maybe some day they will have them,” answered Dunston Porter.
“I reckon this is all my fault,” put in Phil, ruefully. “I must have gone over some extra sharp stone, and it cut like a knife.”
“Oh, such accidents are liable to happen to anybody,” answered Dave. He looked at his watch. “Twenty-five minutes, and we haven’t blown it up yet! No record job this time.”
“Thank fortune we’ve got a patent pump to do the pumping for us,” remarked his uncle. Pumping tires by hand he found a very disagreeable task.
At last the shoe and tube were in place and the pump was set in motion. Dave watched the gauge, and when it was high enough he shut off the air. The tools were put away, and they were ready to go on again.
“The girls went back to that farmhouse,” said the senator’s son, pointing to a small cottage.
“Let us run back and pick them up, and wash our hands at the well.”
Once in front of the house, Dunston Porter, who was at the wheel, sounded the horn. At the same time the boys made for the well, which stood between the house and one of the barns.
“Maybe the girls went inside,” remarked Dave, as he looked in vain for them.
“Must be somewhere around,” returned Phil.
All washed up, using soap and towels carried in the car. Then Dave went to the door of the farmhouse and knocked. In answer to the summons Laura appeared.
“Oh, Dave, come in!” she cried. “I want you to meet the lady here.”
Wondering what his sister wanted, our hero stepped into the sitting-room, which was small and plainly but neatly furnished. In a rocking-chair sat an elderly woman, pale and careworn.
“Mrs. Breen, this is my brother,” said Laura. “And these are his school chums,” she added, nodding towards Phil and Roger.
“How do you do, boys?” said the woman, in a thin, trembling voice.
“We just told her we were bound for Oak Hall,” said Jessie, who was also present. “And she says she knows somebody there.”
“She knows Mr. Job Haskers,” finished Laura.
“Mr. Haskers!” repeated Dave, mentioning the name of one of the teachers – a dictatorial individual nobody liked, and who was allowed to keep his position mainly because of his abilities as an instructor. The chums had had more than one dispute with Job Haskers, and all wished that he would leave the school.
“Yes, yes, I know him,” answered Mrs. Breen, nodding her head gravely and thoughtfully. “He is a great scholar – a very great scholar,” and she nodded again. She was not well and her mind did not appear to be overly bright. She lived alone in the cottage, a neighboring farmer taking care of her few acres of ground for her.
“Dave, come here,” whispered Laura, and led her brother to a corner of the room. “Mrs. Breen tells me that Mr. Haskers owes her money – that he used to board with her and that he borrowed some – and she says he writes that he can’t pay her because he gets so little salary, and that sometimes he has to wait a long while himself.”
“How much is it?” asked Dave, with interest. He remembered how close-fisted Job Haskers had been on more than one occasion.
“Nearly two hundred dollars, so she says.”
“He ought to be able to pay that, Laura. I think he gets a fair salary – in fact, I am sure of it – and I am also pretty sure that Doctor Clay doesn’t keep him waiting for his money.”
“It is too bad! She looks so helpless and so much in need,” murmured the girl.
“I’ll find out about this,” answered Dave.
He sat down, as did the others, and soon had the elderly lady telling her story in detail. It was not very long. Job Haskers had boarded with her one summer, just before obtaining his position at Oak Hall, and he owed her sixty dollars for this. During the time he had spent with her he had spoken of a school-book he was going to publish that would bring him in much money, and she had loaned him a hundred and twenty-five dollars for this. But she had never seen the school-book, nor had he ever paid back a cent. His plea, when she had written to him, had been that his pay was poor and that he had to wait a long time to get money, and that his publishers had not yet gotten around to selling his book.
“I never heard of any book he got out,” said Roger. “And I think I would hear if there was such a book.”
“That’s so,” added Phil. “Old Haskers would be so proud of it he would want everybody to know.”
“It is certainly a shame he doesn’t pay this lady, if he has the money,” was Dunston Porter’s comment. “Did he give you a note?” he asked of Mrs. Breen.
“He wrote out some kind of a paper and was going to give it to me. But I never got it.”
“He’s a swindler, that’s what he is!” murmured Phil, wrathfully.
“It looks that way,” answered Dave, in an equally low tone.
“He knows this lady is next to helpless and he intends to do her out of the money!”
“He ought to be sued,” exclaimed Roger.
“You have no note, or other writing about the money?” questioned Mr. Porter.
“I have his letters,” answered the elderly lady. “They are in the bureau yonder.” And she pointed to an ancient chest of drawers.
“Shall I get them?” asked Jessie, for she saw that it was a task for the old lady to move around.
“If you will, my dear. I am so stiff it is hard to get up.”
Both girls went to the chest of drawers and brought out a small box of letters. Mrs. Breen put on her glasses and fumbled them over and brought forth three communications which were, as the boys recognized, in Job Haskers’s well-known jerky handwriting. She passed them over to be read, and all present perused them with interest.
The contents, however, were disappointing, especially to the boys and Dunston Porter, who had hoped to find something by which legally to hold the school-teacher. Not once did Job Haskers mention that he owed Mrs. Breen any money. He simply stated that he regretted he could do nothing for her, that times were hard, and that his income was limited and hard to get. He said as little as possible, and the tone of the communications showed that he hoped he would hear no more from the old lady who had done what she could to aid him.
“I think this is the limit!” said Dave to his uncle. “Don’t you think he ought to be sued?”
“I don’t know about suing him, Dave; but I think this ought to be put in a lawyer’s hands.”
“He makes money enough to pay this lady,” said Phil. “Say, I’ve a good mind to give him a piece of my mind!” he added, hotly.
“I’ll look into this when I come back this way,” said Dunston Porter, after a little more talk. “Perhaps I can get one of our lawyers to prod this Haskers a little, and also state the case to Doctor Clay.”
“Oh, will you do that, Uncle Dunston?” cried Laura, brightening, for she, as well as all of the others, felt sorry for Mrs. Breen, who seemed so poor, old, and lonesome.
“Yes, I’ll do it. And now we had better be on our way, – if we want to reach Oakdale by noon,” went on Mr. Porter.
The boys went out, followed by Jessie. Laura lingered, to whisper something in her uncle’s ear. Dunston Porter nodded, and then Laura joined the others.
“Mrs. Breen, I will be back in a day or two, to see you about this money affair,” said Mr. Porter, when he and the old lady were alone. “In the meantime, as you were so kind as to take the young ladies in while we were mending our machine, allow me to make you a little present,” and as he finished he placed a five-dollar bill in her lap.
“Oh!” she cried, taking up the banknote. “Why, it’s five dollars! I – I can’t really take all that money!”
“Oh, yes, you can,” said Mr. Porter, smiling. “Use it as you see fit, and remember that I’ll be back, and we’ll do what we can to get that money from Mr. Haskers.”
“You are very, very kind!” murmured the old lady, and tears stood in her eyes. The past winter had been a severe one for her, and she had had a hard struggle to get along.
“Good-by!” shouted the girls and boys to her, and she waved her hand to them. Then the automobile started off once more, in the direction of Oakdale.
