The Forbidden Trail, Honoré Willsie [digital e reader TXT] 📗
- Author: Honoré Willsie
- Performer: -
Book online «The Forbidden Trail, Honoré Willsie [digital e reader TXT] 📗». Author Honoré Willsie
"Don't you think it! When I'm made President of the University, it will be because of my talents as a salesman."
Everybody laughed. "Ernest, do tell us how you did it," urged Elsa.
"Wait a minute!" cried Roger. "What shall I do with the check?" holding it as if it were alive and dangerous to the touch.
"Put it in your pocket, you chump! Then have a talk with Hackett. He has a connection with a bank at Los Angeles and he does a lot of banking for the miners south of Archer's Springs. He'll take care of it for you."
"I can't carry it in the pocket of my shirt, I perspire so!" protested Roger. "Why not shift it to Hackett right now?"
"So be it!" returned Ernest, wearily. "Must I hold your hand while you do it! Say, did you move my clothes up here?"
"Our living tent is just the other side of the old tool house," replied Roger. "Come along, old man, and get rid of your store clothes. You look like a tenderfoot."
"Farewell to decency again!" groaned Ernest.
"When you come back, supper will be ready," called Elsa.
Hackett was sitting in the shade of the engine house and Roger reached an understanding with him very quickly. He undertook to act not only as Roger's banker but as his purchasing agent as well, and Roger undertook to furnish him with a list of tools and machinery before his return to Archer's Springs at dawn.
Gustav was waiting impatiently during the interview, and when Roger said with a sigh:
"Well, I guess that covers everything, Mr. Hackett," Gustav put in quickly:
"Did Ernest tell you there is var in Europe. The Vaterland, England, France, Belgium. Mein Gott, you should see the papers they brought."
"Good heavens! War! You don't mean it! Not a real one," cried Roger.
"Yes, more or less real! Of course, Germany will be in Paris any time now, and that will end it," said Ernest.
"But what is it all about? War! I can't believe it." Roger looked over the breathless, shimmering desert to the far calm blue of the River Range.
"Nobody knows exactly who started it or why," said Hackett. "Looks to me though as if Germany was trying to hog Belgium."
"Belgium deserves to be hogged," exclaimed Ernest, who had changed his clothes, "after her Congo history."
"But if it is var, I must get back to the Vaterland," cried Gustav.
"Oh, as to that," returned Ernest, "I saw Werner in New York and he said for you to stay here till you heard from him. He plans to be down this way, this fall."
Gustav grinned. "That vas good. I don't vant to go, sure."
"Were you in New York?" asked Roger vaguely. "War in Europe! I can't realize it."
"Why try?" suggested Ernest. "It'll be over before you succeed. What's a war in Europe to us, anyhow? Let's go in to supper."
War was indeed a vague and shadowy affair to the little desert community: quite overshadowed by the importance of Ernest's successful trip. Roger did brood a good deal for a day or so over the disclosures in the bundle of newspapers, then the excitement of the testing of the plant swallowed everything else in life.
There was no ceremony about this test. The memory of that other trial, with little Felicia as the central figure, was too fresh and too poignant. Just before the girls called breakfast on Monday morning, there sounded a soft chug, chug from the new engine house. It was so very soft that at first Charley thought she must be mistaken. Then she slipped out to see. Roger, his hot face tense and eager, was standing before his engine watching the perfect mechanism play.
"Look at her, Charley! Look at her! Isn't she a dream? Ernest, look at that indicator—does she do any work? Has she power? Why man, she could pull the waters of the Yangtse Kiang up through the bowels of the earth and throw 'em on Dick's alfalfa fields!"
Ernest stood staring at the engine, round eyed, his mouth open! "Man, what have you been putting over on me! Why, Rog, the old girl is practically noiseless. Throw in the pump, will you?"
Dick promptly threw in the pump, but almost immediately roared. "Hey, slow her down! Slow her down! She's going to pull the pump up by the roots."
"Rog, let's see your drawings a minute, you old sly boots, you!" said Ernest.
"You will laugh at me and tell me to increase the absorber area, will you!" exclaimed Roger. "Why, old man, I've developed the low temperature, high speed engine! It's the one the world has been looking for for years!"
In all the years Ernest had known his chum, he never had heard him express such enthusiasm as this, over his own work. Ernest's eyes were still staring, his mouth still open.
"I believe you have, Rog! I believe you have! Lord, I wish I'd known this when I went East."
"No more sweating down to Hackett's for gasoline, eh?" exclaimed Dick.
Roger grinned. "Day before yesterday's sun is turning the wheels just now. Come on in to breakfast, folks. We can leave her to herself for a while."
Then, as Elsa and Dick followed Ernest up the trail, Roger lingered to wipe a gauge tenderly with a bit of waste. As he did so, he noticed that Charley was standing in the doorway, her eyes fastened wistfully on the whirring fly wheel. She looked very like Felicia in her blue denim blouse and skirt and once more that old confusion of personalities flashed over Roger.
"It's—it's like Felicia's own engine, somehow," said Charley. "She did love to help you so. I wish she knew."
"Charley, dear girl—we miss her so, don't we!" Roger half whispered.
Charley's lips quivered and Roger, hastily wiping his hands, took one of hers and carried it to his lips. "You are so like her!" he said. "So like her!"
Then, they turned slowly and joined the others at breakfast.
Late in the afternoon, after the men had carried on many and increasingly satisfactory tests on the Plant, Charley joined Roger on the porch. The others were with Dick in the alfalfa fields. They sat in silence for a time, then Charley said,
"Roger, has it struck you that Ernest has been unlike himself since his return?"
Roger pulled at his pipe and nodded. "He's putting up a good front, but the dear old boy does hate this desert life. It was a twist for him to come back to it."
"It's more than that, Roger. He's uneasy and irritable. That's absolutely abnormal for Ernest, isn't it?" Then without waiting for an answer, she went on. "Roger, has Ernest given you any details of his interviews with the people in Washington?"
"Sure he has, at least all I wanted. He said he explained everything to the Big Boss down there and that after they had spent hours together and had gotten Dean Erskine on the long distance, he got the money. It was the mistake of some underling, turning me down, after Austin's death. The head of the Institution had supposed I had been taken care of."
"Oh!" murmured Charley. She looked at Roger's face, so lined and tanned and now for the first time in months wearing an expression of relaxed contentment. She bit her lips and with an evident effort began again.
"Don't think I'm intruding, Roger, will you, but I do want to ask you one more question."
"You can ask me anything on earth, dear old Charley," replied Roger.
"Well then, have you a clear understanding of the terms on which the Smithsonian let you have this money?"
"Yes, on the same terms we had with Austin."
"Do you know that, or do you just take it for granted?"
Roger hesitated. "Why—well, in a way, I just take it for granted. That was what Ern and I talked over before he left. He's better than I at that sort of thing. He has my power of attorney and signed up the papers. I haven't gone over this since he got back, I've been so busy."
"You won't think I'm impertinent or nosey, will you, Roger, if I ask you one more question?" Charley's voice had tones in it like Felicia's and Roger was very gentle as he answered:
"Nothing pleases me more than to have you show interest in my work, Charley."
"Well then, let's have a look at those papers."
Roger looked at her curiously. "You think Ernest is as careless as I? He isn't, and you know I'm careless only because I have such confidence in him."
Charley nodded. "I know. Just put it down to female curiosity."
Roger laughed and went lazily over to the living tent, returning shortly with a tin document box. This he unlocked and ran rapidly, then again carefully, through the papers it contained.
"Ern must have them," he said finally. "Come to think of it, he just spoke of them but didn't give them back to me. They must be in his box."
"To which you have no access?"
Roger shook his head, still eyeing Charley with undisguised curiosity.
Charley drew a long breath. "Roger, there's something about this deal I don't like. Ernest is so queer, and Elsa is worried and absentminded. And every time I try to say anything about Ernest's salesmanship she takes my head off. And you know what good friends she and Ernest are normally. They never row each other. But now they're always quarreling in undertones. I would think Ernest was sore about Elsa and Dick's engagement if Ernest hadn't told me before her and Dick that he thought Elsa was foolish but that he washed his hands of the matter."
"Nevertheless that's probably what the worry is about," said Roger.
"No, it's not," very decidedly. "This noon they were at it again, in the kitchen, while I was in my bedroom. I tried not to hear them but all of a sudden Ernest shouted, 'I don't see why I told you! You've done nothing but nag me, ever since. Werner's all right and what difference does it make whether I got the money from him or the Smithsonian?' I went right out and told them what I had overheard and asked them to be more careful. Ernest merely said they were talking of a family matter and Elsa burst into tears and walked away."
Roger laid his pipe down with a scowl. "Pshaw, Charley, you're foolish! What could be Ernest's object in deceiving me? He's as honest as daylight. He knew I was desperate and wouldn't care where he got the money as long as there were no strings to it."
Charley flushed painfully. "I don't blame you for feeling that way. That's why I wanted to see the papers in the matter."
"And why should Werner," asked Roger, "put money into a thing he never saw, when—Oh rot, Charley! I thought you had a mind like a nice fellow—above such hen rubbish."
"My mind is feminine through and through," returned Charley. "I knew you'd scold me. But promise me one thing—that you'll ask Ernest to let you see the contracts."
"I'll do that, of course. I should have done it before. That's being only businesslike."
The opportunity for the request came at the breakfast table but in a manner different from what Roger had planned.
"Somebody ought to take Mrs. von Minden's tent down," said Charley. "It looks stark lonely now at the dismantled plant."
"By the way," exclaimed Ernest, "Roger, we never sent that poor fellow's papers to a German Consul. But it's just as well. When I saw Werner in New York it turned out that he knew Von Minden. He said he'd forward his papers to the proper persons."
"How on earth did he know Crazy Dutch?" asked Roger.
"Just what I asked him. He says that a part of his
Comments (0)