Annabel. Baum Lyman Frank
want you to play with her children, don’t you mind, Will. Remember that the Cardens have lived in Bingham for three generations – long before the Williamses were ever heard of – and there isn’t a thing in their history they need be ashamed of. Poverty’s no crime, young man; and when you’re a little older poverty won’t bother you, for you’ll carve out a fine fortune for yourself, unless I’m very much mistaken.”
Will looked into the big, whiskered face with grateful eyes. Dr. Meigs had not only comforted him, but made him proud of his family and of himself.
“Thank you, Doctor,” he said. “I guess I’ll go, now.”
“Put out your tongue!” commanded the doctor.
Will obeyed, meekly.
“You’re right as a trivet. Run along, now, and weed that garden. And say – take half a peck of peas over to old Mrs. Johnson. I almost forgot about it. Here’s a quarter to pay for them. Tell her a friend sent them around. I believe it was old Nelson, but I can’t remember now.”
Then the doctor picked up the little case in which he carried medicines and strode away down the road, the end of his stout cane ringing on the hard earth at every step.
CHAPTER III
MR. JORDAN BECOMES MYSTERIOUS
Little Flo heard Will’s merry whistle as he drew near, and gave, a sigh of relief. It was dreary work weeding the radishes in the hot sun, without a soul to talk to. Egbert was fixing slender poles in the ground for the young beans to climb; but Egbert didn’t count much as a companion, because he could neither talk nor hear, although he was wonderfully quick to understand signs, or even a movement of the lips; so the child was glad her brother Will had returned.
He only paused to toss his basket into the open door of the barn, and then came straight to the radish bed.
“Working, sis?” he cried, cheerily.
“Mother said I must weed ’til noon,” she answered. “She’s baking, so she can’t help.”
“Well, how does it go?” he asked, kneeling down to assist in the labor.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said, in a voice that sounded less indifferent than the words. “Poor folks have to work, I s’pose; but Saturday ought to be a holiday – oughtn’t it, Will?”
“Sure enough. Where do you want to go?”
“Mabel Allen’s got a new set of dishes for her birthday, and she said if I’d come over we’d have tea. And Annabel Williams told me to stop in and see Gladys’s doll’s new clothes.”
Will’s face hardened, and his whistle died away. He plucked at the weeds savagely for a time, and then said:
“Look here, Flo; you run on and have tea with Mabel. I’ll ’tend to the weedin’. But I wouldn’t go to the big house, if I were you.”
“Why not?” asked Flo, in surprise.
Will thought a minute – just long enough to restrain the angry words that rose to his lips. Then he said:
“We’re poor, Flo, and the Williams family is rich, and they give themselves airs. I don’t know as I blame ’em any for that; but the Cardens are as good as the Williamses, even if we haven’t money, and I don’t like to have them patronize us, that’s all.”
The girl looked puzzled.
“Annabel’s always been nice to me, and I like her. I like Gladys, too. Why, Will, I thought all the Williams children were your friends!”
“So they are,” answered Will. “The children don’t put on airs, sis; it’s Mrs. Williams that don’t like them to play with poor kids, like us. So I wish you wouldn’t go there. When you see them in school, it’s all right to be friendly; but they never come over here, so don’t let’s go there.”
“All right, Will,” she answered, with a sigh for she longed to visit the beautiful grounds and rooms at the big house. “But, do you think you can spare me?”
“Easy,” said Will.
“But mother said – ”
“I’ll fix it with mother. You run along and have a good time.”
Will did a lot of work in the garden that day, and all the time he was thinking deeply of what he had heard from Doctor Meigs. It never occurred to him to doubt a word of the story of his father’s misfortunes and death.
At supper that night he cast many stealthy looks at Mr. Jordan, who sat wholly unconscious of the scrutiny and as silent as ever. Indeed, this peculiar gentleman was well worthy of examination, aside from the fact that he had been a friend to John Carden in the old days.
Mr. Jordan – his name was Ezra, but few were aware of that – was fully six feet in height, but wonderfully thin and gaunt of frame. His lean face was close-shaven, and his head was bald save for a fringe of locks above the ears. These were carefully brushed upward and plastered close to his shiny skull. But his eyebrows were thick and bushy, and sprinkled with gray, so that they gave him a rather fierce expression. Over his eyes he constantly wore big, gold-rimmed spectacles, which magnified the sight of those looking toward them; so that Mr. Jordan’s eyes became unnaturally large and glaring, and apt to disturb one’s composure and render it an uncomfortable thing to stare at him for long.
That glance of Mr. Jordan’s spectacles used to fill Will and Flo with awe, when they were younger; but Will had found chances to get a side view of the man’s face, and beneath the spectacles noted that the eyes were really small and watery, and of a mild blue color; so that now the spectacles were less horrible.
One peculiarity of the man was that he walked rigidly upright – “as stiff as a ramrod,” Will declared – and on his evening strolls he never used a cane; but stalked away as slowly as a ghost, with his hands clasped behind his back and his spectacles staring straight ahead. He always wore a long frock coat of black and a rusty silk hat, which added to his tallness and made him quite remarkable.
No one could remember when Mr. Jordan had not lived in Bingham; yet he had no relatives nor even intimate friends. While not reputed wealthy, he was considered “a man of means,” and everyone bowed respectfully but gravely to him as he passed by. At the mills he was called “the Automaton” by the younger clerks, because he performed all duties with absolute punctuality and unvarying deliberation.
No one knew why Chester D. Williams had given Mr. Jordan such full control of the steel works, but his word was law in the offices, and even the proprietor assumed a different air whenever he addressed his secretary. As to the man’s capability, that could not be doubted. Under his supervision no detail of the business was neglected and the concern ran like clock-work.
The Carden children were of course accustomed to the presence of their boarder. Perhaps Egbert might retain a vivid recollection of the days when his father was alive, and Mr. Jordan was unknown to the parlor bedroom or the seat at the head of the table; but to Will those times were very hazy, and to Flo it seemed as if the boarder had always been there, grim and silent from the first, but now scarcely noticed save by tired-faced Mrs. Carden, whose daily duty it was to make Mr. Jordan comfortable in return for the weekly five dollars that was so important an item to the little household.
On this Saturday evening, when supper was over, Will sat upon a box at the entrance to the tumble-down shed that was called by courtesy a “barn,” and watched the boarder start out for his regular evening walk.
Mr. Jordan never neglected this exercise, no matter what the weather might be. People in Bingham had long since decided that he walked for the benefit of his health, as a relief from the close confinement at the office during the day; and it amused the gossips that the man’s habits were so regular that neither wind nor snow, frost nor blizzard had never yet induced him to vary his daily programme by staying in doors.
And he always walked in the same direction, turning down the lane to the left of the cottage and following it a full half mile to a grove of great oak and maple trees; through this to the Danville turnpike; along the turnpike to Holmes’