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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 22, 1908)
-■nP«Aii vvJBy Joseph C. Lincoln _ Autbob of "Cap'n Eri* ’Partners of the Tide'* =». Copyp/cur 1307 A 6 Barms ess Company Illustrations by T.D.Melwl CHAPTER I. The Masters. I heard about the pair first from Emeline Eldredge, “Emmie T.” we al ways call her. She was first mate to the cook at the Old Summer Home house that summer. She come down to the landing one morning afore breakfast and hove alongside of where I was setting in the stern of my sloop, the Dora Bassett, untangling fish lines. She had a tin pail in her fist, indicat ing that her sailing orders was to go after milk. But she saw me and run down in ballast to swap yarns. “My sakes! Mr. Pratt,” says she; “have you heard about Nate Scudder?” “Yes,” I says. “Ever since I come to Wellmouth.” “I mean about what him and his wife has just done," says she. “It's the queerest thing! You'll never guess it in the world.” “Ain't been giving his money to the poor, has he?” says I, for, generally speaking, it takes a strong man and a cold chisel to separate Nate Scudder from a cent. “Oh! ain't you the funniest thing!” she squeals. .“No indeed! He's let his house to some city folks, and—” “Ain't that the cook calling you?” I asks. I'm a homeopth when it comes to Emmie T.; I like to take her in small doses—she agrees with me bet ter that way. It was the cook, and Emeline kited off alter the milk, only stopping long enough to yell back: “Folks say they're dreadful rich and stylish. I ll tell you next time I see you." Well, 1 cal lated she wouldn’t—not if I saw her first—and didn't pay no more attention to the yarn, except to think that June was pretty early for city folks to be renting houses. There was only three or four boarders at the Old Home so far, and I was to take a couple of ’em over to Trumet in the sloop that very day. But. while we was on the way over, one of the couple—sort of a high toned edition of Emmie T. she was— she turns to her messmate, another pullet from the same coop, and says she: “Oh! say!” she says. “Have you heard about the two young fellers from New York who've rented that Scudder house on the—on the—what do they call it? Oh, yes! the Neck road. I heard Nettie Brown say they were too dear for anything. Let's drive past there to-morrow; shall we?” So there it was again, and I begun to wonder what sort of critters Nate had hooked. I judged that they must be a kind of goldfish or he wouldn't have baited for 'eln. Nate ain't the man to be satisfied with a mess of sculpins. I landed the boarders at Trumet and they went up to the village to do some shopping. Then I headed across the harbor to shake hands with the Trumet light keeper, who is a friend of mine. His wife told me he'd gone over to town, too, so I come about and back to-the landing again. And I'm blessed if there wa'n't Nate Scudder himself, setting on a mackerel keg at the end of the wharf and looking wor ried. I naan t noistea me jio on me way down, and now I let the mainsail drop and went forward. "Hello, Nate!” I hailed, as the Dora Bassett slid up to the wharf. He kind of jumped, and looked at me as if he'd just woke up. "Hello, Sol!” he says, sort of mourn ful. Then he turned his eyes toward the bay again and appeared to • be starting in on another nap. "Hear you got some boarders over to your home,” I says, heaving him a line as a hint for him to come out of his trance and make me fast. “Yes,” says he, paying no attention to the line. "Come early in the season, ain't they?" says I, grabbing hold of one of the wharf spiles and bringing my boat alongside easy as I could. "Ya-as,” says he, again. Then he fetched a long breath and opened his mouth as if he was going to go on. But he didn't; all that comes out of the mouth afore it shut up was an other “Yes.” I made the Dora Bassett fast myself and climbed on to the wharf. •;Are they cal'lating to stay long? ' 1 asks. He'd got me interested. Seemed to have the “yes” disease bad. "Hey?” says he. "Oh—er—yes.” 1 was a little mite provoked. Not that I was hankering to have Nate Seudder heave his arms around my neck and tell me he loved me, but I didn't know any reason why my pumps should suck dry every time I tried ’em. "Humph!” I grunted, starting to walk off. "Well, be careful of your self; look out it don't develop into nothing worse.” “What do you mean?” he sings out, seeming to be waked up for good, at last. "Oh." says I; “I judged by the way you kept your mouth shut that you had sore throat and was afraid of getting cold. Good day'.’ Would you believe it, he got tip off that mackerel keg and chased after me. “Hold on. Sol!” he says, kind of pleading. "Don’t be in such a hurry. I wanted to talk to you.” I had to laugh; couldn’t help it. Yes,” says I, “I kind of suspicioned iat you did, from your chatty re marks. If you’d said ‘yes’ nine or ten imes more I’d have been sure of it.” "Well, 1 did,” he says. "1 wanted to ask you—I thought I'd see what you thought—you see—” Here he kind of faded away again, and stood still and wiped his fore head. "Look here, Nate Seudder,” I says, r a man that wants to talk you make the poorest fist at it of anybody ever I see. Why don’t you try singing or making signs? I wouldn't wonder if you got ahead faster.” He grinned, a feeble sort of lop sided grin, and tried another tack. “You were speaking of them board ers of mine,” he says. “Yes; I was," I says. “They come day afore yesterday— early,” say he. "Um-hum. So I heard,” I says. He fidgeted a minute or so more. Then he took me by the arm and led me back to the keg. “Sol,” he says, “set down. I want to ask you something. By gum! I got to ask somebody. I'm—I'm worried.” “Yes?" I said, giving him a little of his own medicine. “Yes. Them boarders—they worry me. Me and Huldy set up till nigh 11 o'clock last night talking about 'em. She thinks maybe they stole the money, and I don't know but they're crazy, ran away from an asylum or something. You’ve seen more city folks than I have, being around the hotel so. See what you think. "'Twas this way,” he went on; “I got a letter from the feller in New York that I sell cranberries to. He said a couple of friends of his wanted to come to a place in the country where 'twas quiet. Did I know of such a place round here? Well, course I wrote back that ’twas nice and quiet right at our house. There wan t no lie in that, was there, Sol?" “No,” I says. “I should say 'twouldn't be shaving the truth too "He laughed. He was so everlasting ccol about things that it sort of riled me up. “ ‘Perhaps you'd like to hire the whole shebang?’ says I, sarcastic, pointing to the house. “He looked at it. It looked sort of cheerful, with the syringa over the door and the morning-glories hiding where the whitewash was off. "‘Good idea!’ he says. ‘I would.’ “Well, that was too many for me! I went into the house and fetched out Huldy Ann—she's my wife. There ain’t many women in this town can beat her when it comes to managing and business, if I do say it. “ ‘How long would you want the house for?’ says Huldy, when I told her what was going on. “ ‘A month,’ says Van Brunt, turn ing to the other city feller. ‘Hey, Mar tin?’ T'other chap nodded. “ ‘All right,’ says Van Brunt. ‘How much?’ “Thinks I, ‘I'll scare you, my fine fel ler.’ And so I says, ‘A month? Well, I don't know. Maybe, to accommo date. I might let you have it for two hundred.’ I sort of edged off then, thinking sure he'd be mad; but he wa'n't—not him. ‘Two hundred it is, ’ he says, and fished out a little blank book and one of them pocket pens. “ ‘Name’s Scudder?’ he asks. “ ‘Yes,’ says I. ‘Nathan Scudder. One T in Nathan.’ “And I don't know as you'll believe it, Sol,” says Nate, finishing up, “but that feller made out a check for two hundred and passed it over to me like ‘twas a postage stamp. What do you think of that?” I didn't know what to think of it. On general principles I'd say that a man who wanted to board with Nate and Huldy Ann Scudder was crazy anyhow; but of course these fellers didn't know. “It beats me, Nate,” I says. “What do you think?” “Blessed if I know!” says Scudder, with another of them long breaths. “All I'm sure of is that they're up home, with the parlor blinds open and the carpet fading, and me and Huldy's living in the barn. She's doing the cookin’ for ’em till this 'man' of theirs "Perhaps You’d Like to Hire the Whole Shebang?” Says I. Sarcastic. close if you'd said there was more quietness than anything else down on the Neck road.” ‘'Well." he goes on, not noticing the sarcasm, “I wrote and never got a word back. Me and Huldy had given up hearing. And then, yesterday morning, they come—both of 'em. Nice lookin' young fellers as ever you see, they are; dressed just like the chaps in the clothes advertisements in the back of the magazines. The big gest one—they're both half as tall as that mast, seems so—he took up his hat and says, kind of lazy and grand, like a steamboat capt'n: “ ‘Mr. Scudder?’ he says. “ ‘That’s my name,’ says I. I was kind of suspicious; there's been so many sewing-machine agents and such round town this spring. And yet I'd ought to have known he wa n t no sew ing-machine agent. “‘Ah!’ he says. ‘You've been ex pecting us, then. Has the luggage come?’ “What in time did T know about his •luggage,' as he called it? “ ‘No,’ says I. “Tain't.’ “ ‘Oh, well, never mind,’ he says, just as if a ton or two of baggage didn't count anyway. ‘Can you give us two sleeping rooms, two baths, a setting room, and a room for my man?' “‘Two baths?' says I. 'Can’t you take a bath by yourself? You seem to be having lots of funny jokes with me. Would you mind saying what your name is and what you want “He looked me over sort of odd. ‘Beg pardon,’ he said. I thought you were expecting us. Here s my card.’ “I looked at it, and there was the name ‘Edward Van Brunt,’ printed on it. Then I begun to gel my bearings, as you might say. “ ‘Oh!’ I says. ‘I see.’ “ ‘So glad, I'm sure,’ he says. 'Now can you give us the sleeping rooms, the baths, and the room for my ma i "‘Hump!’ says I, lookin' back uie house behind me; ‘if me ar.J Huiiy bunked in the h ’ousc a.id the chore boy in the cellar, maybe we could commodate you, that is, all but tit baths. You’d hav< ... take turns will the washtub for them,’ I says. conies. Land knows what kind of a man he is, too. And that check was on a New York bank, and I've just been up to Trumet here with it and the cashier says 'twill be a week afore I know whether it's good or not. And I can’t make out whether them two are thieves, or lunatics, or what. And Huldy can't neither. I never was so worried in my life." I kind of chuckled down inside. The idea of anybody's skinning Nate Scud der was the nighest to the biter's be ing bit of anything I ever come across. And just then I see my two passengers coming. “Well, cheer up, Nate,-’ I says. “Maybe you'll get the reward, whether it's lunatics or thieves. Only you want to look out and not be took up for an accomplice.” He fairly shriveled up when I said that, and I laughed to myself ail the way out of Trumet harbor. One thing I was sure of: Them two New York ers must be queer birds and 1 wanted to see ’em. And the very next afternoon I did see 'em. They come down the Old Home pier together, walking as if they didn't care a whole continental wheth er they ever got anywheres or not. One of 'em, the smallest one—he I ■ SUM PASSENQ Story of Wonderful Surgical Operation Received with Doubt. It happened on a Pullman car be tween New York and Chicago. Dinner having been finished, the gentlemen assembled in the smoking-room to en joy their cigars. ‘During the time F v. as in the war," said the quiet man, i I saw a wonderful thing in the line j of surgical operations. A friend of I mine was shot through the right breast, the bullet passing clear j through him. The presence of mind j of his companion undoubtedly saved J h*3 hfe- He wrapped his handkerchief I around the ramrod of his gun, and, * wa’n’t more'n six foot one and a ha*f —looked sort of sick to me. He had a white face, and that kind of tired, don't-care look in his eye; and the bigger one sort of ’tended to things for him. “Good morning,” says the big one —the Van Brunt one, I judged—cheer ful enough. T’other chap said, “Good morning,” too. “Morning,” says I. “Can you take us out sailing?” “Why—er—I guess so,” I says. “I don’t know why I can't, if you feel like going. Course—” I hadn't finished what I was going to say afore they were in the boat. Now, generally speaking, there’s some bargaining to be done afore you take folks out for a three-dollar sail. You naturally expect it, you know—not so much from boarders as from towners, but still, some. But not for these two —no, sir! It was this powerful sud denness of theirs that hit me betwixt wind and water, same as it had Nate. Made me feel sort of like I'd missed the train. Stirred up my suspicions again, too. ’Twas a nice day; one of them clear blue and green days that you get early in June. The water wa'n’t rugged, but just choppy enough to be pretty, and j the bieeze was about no'theast, givin’ I us a fair run down the bay. “This is grand!” says the big fel low, as the Dora Bassett began to feel her oats and lay down to her work. “Caesar! Van,” said the other one; "why do you bring me down to earth like that? Grand! Bleecker next!” He hollered out this last part in a kind of screechy sing-song. Then they both laughed. 1 looked at ’em. There wa’n't noth ing to laugh at, so far as 1 could see, and the "Bleecker" business didn't, ap pear to have no sense in it, either They made two or three other speeches that sounded just as foolish. Thinks 1: “1 wonder if Scudder's right?” They didn’t look like luna tics, but you cant always tell. Old man Ebenezer Duane went to church of a Sunday morning just as sensible acting as a Second Adventer could be; but when he got home he tired the bean-pot at his wife, chased his civil dren out door with a clam hoe, and they found him settin' astraddle o( the henhouse singing "Beulah Land" to the chickens. These fellers might be harmless loons that had been farmed out, as you might say, by the asylum folks. There was that “man" that Nate said was coming. He might be their keener. "I understand you've got a friend coming,” says I, by way of ground bait. "Friend?” says the big one. “Friend? I don't understand.” "Scudder said you had another man coming to his house," says I. He smiled. "Oh. I see.” Then he smiled again, a queer lazy kind of a smile, like as if he was amused at him self or his thoughts. "I don't know that I should call him a friend. Mr. —er—” “Pratt," says I. “Solomon Pratt.” "Thanks. No. I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a friend: and yet he’s not an enemy—not openly.” He smiled .again, and the other chap— whose name 1 found out was Hartley —Martin Hartley—smiled too. "He's the man Van here belongs to,” explained the Hartley one. They both smiled again. 1 kind of jumped. I guess, when he said that. It began to look as if the asylum idea was the right one, and this feller that was coming was the keeper. “Hum.” says 1, and nodded my head Just as if the whole business was as plain as A B C. "Do you belong to anybody?” I says to Hartley. “I did," says he, “but he's doing time.” "Doing time?” says I. “Yes," says he, explaining, kind of impatient like. “Up the river, you know.” 1 chewed over this for a minute, and all I could think of was that the feller must be in a clock factory or a watch maker's or something. “Watches?” I asks. Hartley seemed to be too tired of life to want to answer, but his chum did it for him. "No,” says he. “I believe it was pearl studs on the showdown.” Well, this was crazy talk enough for anybody. 1 didn't want to stir ’em up none—I've always heard that you hail to be gentle with lunatics—so I went on, encouraging 'em like. “Studs, hey?" says I. "Yes," says he. "He was a British beast, and Martin was all balled up in the street at the time—away from his apartments a good deal—and the B. B. annexed everything in sight.” "Go ’long!" says I, for the sake of saying something. "Beg pardon,” says he. "Nothing,” says 1; and we stopped talking. They seemed to enjoy the sail first rate, and acted as rational as could be, generally speaking. They didn't know a topping lift from a center-board, so far as boat went, but that wa'n't strange; I'd seen plenty of boarders like that. But never afore had I seen two that acted or talked like them. We got back to the wharf along about dusk, and I walk d with ’em a piece on their way to Nate's. I was keeping a sort of old >ach hall just outside the village and so it wa'n't much out of my way. They had me guessing and I wanted more time to woik on the riddle. (TO BE CONTINUED.) w* ER A SKEPTIC pushing it through the path made by the bullet, cleared the wound of all piosonous lead. I know it is hard to believe, but, gen tlemen, the man still lives to tell the tale.” “Which inquired the slim passenger on the other seat, cuietly. “The wounded one, of course,” exclaimed the old soldier, scornfully. “Oh, I beg your pardon; I thought it might be the other.” Greatness. But, after all, what shall it profit a man to try to be great if he has never been taken in hand by the Gridiron club? CORNET BROUGHT ABOUT PEACE. Spite Controversy Happily Ended Without Legal Warfare. “Fellow was raising bees back In the foothill country,” remarked Frank H. Short of Fresno. “Plenty of sage brush; sage makes clear, delicious honey. Got in a row with a neigh bor; shot bis dog; said its barking annoyed his queen bees. Neighbor waited a whole year to get even, plowed up a big patch, planted wild ! mustard; grew fine. Bees thick on mustard flowers. Mustard makes bit ter honey. Like to ruin the bee man's sales. Bee farmer came to me, wanted to sue for damages. ‘What can I do?’ be asked. “‘Nothing,’ 1 said. ’He has a right to grow mustard on his own land.’ “ ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’ll get some scheme to annoy him.’ “So he got a cornet; used to sit up from midnight till four o’clock in the morning practicing ’Wearing of the Green.’ Fellow with the mustard was an Englishman; stood it for three weeks; went out with a scythe and cut down all the mustard. They’ve been good friends ever since.”—San Trancisco Chronicle. WANTED IT OVER WITH. Game Youngster Preferred Drastic Action in Punishment. "Youngsters are pretty philosoph ical,” observed Wallace Knight, and then he went ahead to set forth the point of view of a small daughter at his house. The child was sent to bed early the other evening as punishment for home act contrary to rules and regula tions. After she had been tucked in bed for some time and was supposedly asleep, the youngster called her fa ther and told him she wished he wouid go ahead and spank her and have it over with, instead of sending her off to bed that way. "This lying in bed never’s going to make me any better.” she said, “and a good spanking would Besides it makes me so mad I can t sleep and so what's the use of it?"— Cleveland Plain Dealer. CURE AT CITY MISSION. Awful Case of Scabies—Bcdy a Mass of Sores from Scratching—Her Tortures Yield to Cutieura. “A young woman came to our city mission in a most awful condition physi cally. Our doctor examined her and told us that she had scabies (the itch), incipient paresis, rheumatism, etc., brought on front exposure. Her poor body was a mass of sores from scratch ing and she was not able to retain solid food. We worked hard over her for seven weeks but we could see little improve ment. 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