The Boys of Bellwood School/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII
THE CONFIDENCE MAN
"All aboard!"
Frank fancied that he had never listened to a more cheery command than this given as the Western Express rolled out of the depot at Tipton.
It was beautiful weather, a glorious day that would put life and sunshine into an invalid, let alone a lively, happy boy escaping from what he considered thralldom, believing that all the joys of life were awaiting him at the end of his trip.
Frank's aunt actually smiled and waved the lad a gracious adieu from the depot platform. She had been quite gentle and kind to him the few hours preceding his departure. She had put up a generous lunch for him, and had even unbent so far as to declare that she had believed from the first that he knew nothing about the missing diamond bracelet. All this, however, had been the preface to a dozen brief lectures on thorny ways and the dark pitfalls of life. Frank was genuinely glad to escape from the gloomy influence Miss Brown cast on everything bright and happy about her.
At another part of the platform was Mace, the jeweler. He had a sullen frown on his face, and he fixed his glance on Frank as though his eyes were boring him through and through to discover the missing diamond bracelet.
The wrecking of old Dobbins' house had remained a mystery. Some thought the rope had been cut, while others were of the opinion that it had broken because of the heavy strain put upon it.
"Good—we're off!" jubilated Frank, as he waved a last adieu to his aunt through the open car window, and Tipton faded away in the distance. Then he settled down in his comfortable seat to enjoy the all-day ride to Bellwood.
Miss Brown had doled out twenty-five cents at the depot news-stand for a book full of jokes and funny pictures. Frank soon exhausted this literary fund. Then he bought some oranges from the train boy and had a lively chat with him. He bought a daily paper and read it through and through, and by noon the trip began to get a trifle monotonous.
It was about one o'clock when the train arrived at a junction, where there was a stop for half an hour. Frank was glad to walk about and stretch his limbs. When leaving time came and he returned to the train he became interested in studying two passengers.
A husky, farmer-looking man had entered the coach, followed by a stocky-built lad about the age of Frank. The latter bore the appearance of a boy sullen and unhappy over some circumstance. Frank thought he had never seen a more dissatisfied face than that of this lad. He shuffled along after the farmer in an ungracious fashion, and taking the first empty seat flopped into it unceremoniously.
"All right," said his companion. "You're probably better by yourself when you're in one of your tantrums. Just see if you can't get some of your natural meanness out of you while looking at the beauties of nature along the route."
The boy hunched up his shoulders contemptuously without saying a word in reply, while the farmer selected a seat across the aisle and directly in front of Frank. He occupied himself looking over a weekly farm paper. After a while Frank crossed over to the seat occupied by the boy who had accompanied the farmer.
"Going far?" inquired Frank in a friendly tone.
The lad did not move to make room for him in the seat. He turned a sullen face on Frank. There was dark suspicion and open animosity in his eyes.
"Far enough," he muttered.
"It's pleasant weather, isn't it?" propounded Frank, bound to be companionable.
"Say," said the boy, staring pugnaciously at our hero, "trying to pick on me, are you?"
"Why," answered the astonished Frank, "I never dreamed of such a thing."
"Yes, you did! Lemme alone!"
"All right," returned Frank pleasantly. "Only here's an orange and a funny book I want you to enjoy," and he placed the articles in question beside the boy and stepped back to his own seat.
As he did so he met the big round face of the farmer on a broad grin. The latter turned around and accosted him.
"Not very sociable, hey?" he remarked.
"Oh, I probably seem strange to him," observed Frank.
"He's that way all along," declared the farmer. "If he is my son, I say it."
"You are his father, then?"
"The only one he's got," replied the farmer. "You see, I married his mother. She's dead, now. That boy always was a sulky, ugly varmint. Why, he'd ought to be the happiest critter in Christendom. He's got eight step-brothers and step-sisters. Won't jibe, though. He's just unnateral, that fellow is. No living at home with him, so I'm taking his to a boarding-school."
"Maybe he doesn't feel well all the time," suggested Frank gently.
"What, that big, husky boy? Why, he's strong as an ox. No, sir-ree, nateral depravity, I say. I tried to whip it out of him. It did him no good."
"I shouldn't think it would," decided Frank mentally, and then the conversation dropped and the man returned to his paper.
Frank felt sorry for the grumpy, sad-looking boy across the aisle. His own loveless experience with his aunt at Tipton gave him some reason for this. The boy was worse off than he was, though, for Frank had kind-hearted, affectionate parents, while the farmer boy was motherless. The latter had eaten half of the orange and was quite engrossed in the book given him. Frank was about to start another effort to make friends, when the train came to a station and a passenger came aboard who diverted his interest.
The newcomer was a tall, dark man of middle age. He had a very solemn face and wore a black tie and choker and clothes that suggested mourning.
There were plenty of vacant seats, but after a sharp look about the coach this new passenger came to where the farmer sat.
"Seat engaged, sir?" he inquired in a polite, ingratiating way.
"No, sure not," responded the farmer heartily. "Sit down. Glad to have company."
"I fear I shall not be very good company," observed the new passenger with a dismal sigh.
"How's that, sir?" questioned the farmer curiously.
"I'm going to a funeral."
"Ah! Nigh relative?"
"Yes; a brother."
"Too bad," commiserated the farmer. "Lost my own brother last year. Bill was a hustling chap. Missed him dreadfully last plowing season."
"My brother lives at Jayville," explained the man, naming a station two stops ahead.
"Jayville, eh?" repeated the farmer. "Been there. Went to the bank there once to sell a mortgage."
"Indeed. An uncle of mine is an official of the bank."
"Is that so, now?" said the farmer. "There's the mayor, there, too; sort of a distant relative of my first wife. Don't know him, do you?"
Frank interestedly watched the stranger deftly draw from a side pocket a book. It seemed to be some kind of a country directory. Without attracting the attention of his companion, the stranger glanced over its pages, meantime suspending conversation by pretending to have a violent fit of coughing.
"The mayor," he said finally. "You mean Mr. David Norris?"
"That's him!" exclaimed the farmer.
"Oh, yes, I know him. He is a cousin of mine."
"Is that so? Shake!" said the farmer. "Why, we're quite acquainted, hain't we? Almost relatives, hey?"
"Well!" muttered Frank under his breath. "This is getting interesting. Sure as sugar, that fellow is a confidence man."