Home > Authors Index > H. Irving Hancock > High School Boys' Training Hike; or, Making Themselves "Hard as Nails" > This page
The High School Boys' Training Hike; or, Making Themselves "Hard as Nails", a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
||
Chapter 23. Timmy, The Gentleman, At Home |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XXIII. TIMMY, THE GENTLEMAN, AT HOME
"No, sir!" Darry retorted. "Life won't seem stale on that account. Instead, it will be brightened by the pleasant recollection of this summer's fun, which is now so soon to be ended." "You're not going through Fenton, are you, Dick?" asked Greg. "I guess we'll have to. We were pretty well cleaned out of some of our provisions last night. We shall have to replenish our food supply, and Fenton is the only real town along our route to-day. The rest are small farming villages." "But we'll attract a lot of attention," declared Holmes. "You won't," laughed Darry. "You didn't go to town with us last night, and consequently you're not known there." "I'd rather not go through the town myself," Dick explained, "but it seems to me that as long as we must purchase supplies we ought to make a stop in the town that's likely to have the best stores." Fenton's principal street had rather a sleepy look this hot August morning. There were but few people abroad as Dick & Co. turned into the main thoroughfare. At Miller's place there was not a sign of life. "I'll wager that brute is applying raw beef to his eyes this morning," muttered Tom, somewhat vindictively. Prescott's watchful glance soon discovered a provision store that looked more than usually promising. At a word from him Tom reined in the horse, while Prescott and Darrin went inside to make purchases. When they came out they found Farmer Hartshorn and another man talking with Tom Reade. "You young men of Gridley don't look any the worse, this morning, for the excitement you had last night," said Mr. Hartshorn, after a cordial greeting. "Reade tells me that you left the milk-pail at my house as you came along." "Yes, sir," Dick nodded. "And with it, we left our very best thanks for the fine treat that milk proved to be to us." "Prescott, shake hands with Mr. Stark. He's our leading lawyer in this little place." "I've heard a good deal about you this morning," said the lawyer, as he shook hands. Mr. Stark was a tall, thin man, of perhaps forty-five years of age. Warm as was the day he was attired wholly in black, a bit rusty, and wore a high silk hat that was beginning to show signs of age. He belonged to a type of rural lawyer that is now passing. "I think we've heard of you, too," smiled Prescott innocently. "Have you?" asked the lawyer, looking somewhat astonished. "Yes," Dick went on. "I think it must have been your letter that Mr. Reuben Hinman showed us one day. It was in regard to a bill he had given you to collect. Mr. Hinman is in the hospital and must need quite a bit of money just at present so I beg to express the hope that you have been able to collect the other half of the debt---the half that belongs to him." Lawyer Stark reddened a good deal, despite his sallow skin. "Why, what about that other half? What's the story?" questioned Mr. Hartshorn, his eyes, twinkling as though he scented something amusing. "Oh---er---just a matter of business between a client and myself," the lawyer explained, in some confusion. "And poor old Hinman was the client, eh?" asked the farmer. "We don't know very much about the matter," Dave Darrin broke in, a trifle maliciously, for he fell that it might be a good thing to show up this lawyer's tricky work. "Mr. Hinman gave Mr. Stark a bill of twenty dollars to collect, and-----" "It was---er---all a matter of business between a client and myself, and therefore of a confidential nature," Lawyer Stark broke in, reddening still more. But Dave was in no mood, just then, to be headed off so easily, so he went on: "Mr. Hinman showed us the letter, and asked us what we thought of it, so that rather broke the confidential nature of the matter. You see," turning to Mr. Hartshorn, "the bill was for twenty dollars, and it seems that. Mr. Stark was to have half for his trouble in collecting it. Now the letter that Mr. Hinman showed us-----" "I protest, young man!" exclaimed the lawyer. "The letter," Darry went on calmly, "was to the effect that Mr. Stark had collected his own half of the twenty dollars, and that the collection of Mr. Hinman's half of the money seemed doubtful." "Now, now, Stark!" exclaimed the farmer, looking sharply at the lawyer. "Surely, that isn't your way of doing business with a poor and aged client like Hinman!" "I have collected the remainder of the bill, and am going to mail a settlement to Mr. Hinman to-day," muttered the lawyer, trying to look unconcerned. "All just a matter of routine office business, Mr. Hartshorn." But the lawyer felt wholly uncomfortable. He was thinking, at that moment, that he would heartily enjoy kicking Darrin if the latter didn't look so utterly healthy and uncommonly able to take care of himself. "Do I hear you discussing money that is due my father?" inquired a voice behind them. "If so, my father is very ill, as you doubtless know, and I would take pleasure in receiving the money on his behalf." Timothy Hinman, looking wholly the man of fashion, made this offer. He had come up behind the group, and there was a look in his eyes which seemed to say that the handling of some of the family money would not be distasteful to him just then. "I'll walk along with you to your office, Mr. Stark, and receipt for the money, if you're headed that way," suggested the younger Hinman again. "Unless you hold a regular power of attorney from your father, you could hardly give me a valid receipt," replied the lawyer sourly, as he turned away from Mr. Hartshorn and the boys and started down the street. "Won't my receipt do until my father is up and about once more?" pressed Timothy Hinman. "No, sir; it won't," snapped the lawyer. "Have you heard, this morning, how your father is?" Dick inquired. "Just heard, at the post-office," Hinman answered. "My father had a very bad day yesterday. Er---in fact, the chances, I am sorry to say, appear to be very much against his recovery." "He must feel the strain of his father's illness," observed Dave sarcastically. "He does!" retorted Mr. Hartshorn, with emphasis. "If old Reuben dies young Timothy must go to work for a living. The disgrace of toil will almost kill him. His two sisters are as bad as he is. They've never done a stroke of work, either. All three have lived on the poor old peddler's earnings all their lives, though not one of the three would be willing to keep the old man's house for him. There are a lot of sons and daughters like them to-day. Perhaps there always have been." Mr. Hartshorn waited until Dick and Dave had finished with the purchases and had loaded them on the wagon. Then the farmer shook hands with each member of Dick & Co. "I'm coming up to Gridley to see the football game this Thanksgiving," he promised. "I hope I'll see as good a game as I did last year. Anyway, I'll see the work of a mighty fine lot of young fellows." Prescott expressed again the heartiest thanks of himself and friends for the timely aid given them during the trouble in camp. "We've lost so much time this morning that we'll have to hustle for the rest of the day," Tom called down from the wagon seat, as he started the horse. An hour later they were more than three miles past Fenton. "Get out of the way, Tom!" called Dave. "Drive up into someone's yard like lightning. Here comes a whizz wagon that wants the whole highway." Behind them, its metal trimmings flashing in the sun, and leaving a trail of dust in its wake, came an automobile traveling at least sixty miles an hour. Yet, fast as the car was going when it passed them, the speed did not prevent one occupant from recognizing them and calling out derisively. Then, half a mile ahead, the car stopped, turned, and came slowly back toward the wondering Gridley boys. _ |
||