CHAPTER VI
THE CONSPIRACY
I'm not making any excuses. I did it for the best. In any sort of crisis
there are always folks who stand around and wring their hands and say,
"What shall we do?" And then if it's a fire and somebody has had enough
sense to send for the engines, they say: "Just look at what the water
did!" Although as far as I can see I'm the only one that suffered any
damage.
If Mr. Thoburn had not been there, sitting by to see the old sanatorium
die so it could sprout wings and fly as a summer hotel, I'd never have
thought of it. But I was in despair.
I got up and opened the door, but the Snow came in in a cloud, and the
path was half a foot deep again. It shows on what little threads big
things hang, for when I saw the storm I gave up the idea of bringing Mr.
Sam down to see the young man, and the breath of fresh air in my face
brought me to my senses.
But the angel of providence appeared in the shape of Mike, the bath man,
coming down through the snow in a tearing rage. The instant I saw Mike I
knew it was settled.
"Am I or am I not to give Mr. Moody a needle shower?" he shouted, almost
beside himself. And I saw he had his overcoat over his bath costume,
which is a Turkish towel.
"A needle shower followed by a salt rub," said I. "He's been having them
for eleven years. What's the matter?"
"That fool of a young doctor," shouted Mike, "he told him before he left
that if he'd been taking them for eleven years and wasn't any better
it was time to stop. Ain't business bad enough—only four people in the
house takin' baths regular—without his buttin' in!"
"Where's Mr. Moody?"
"In the bath. I've locked up his clothes."
"You give him a needle shower and a salt rub," I ordered, "and if he
makes a fuss just send for me. And, Mike," I said, as he started out,
"ask Mr. Van Alstyne to come out here immediately."
That's the way it was all the time. Everybody brought their troubles to
me, and I guess I thought I was a little tin god on wheels and the place
couldn't get along without me. But it did; it does. We all think we'll
leave a big hole behind us when we go, but it's just like taking your
thumb out of a bowl of soup. There isn't even a dent.
Mr. Van Alstyne came out on the run, and when he saw Mr. Pierce by the
fire—that was his name, Alan Pierce—he stopped and stared. Then he
said:
"You infernal young scamp!" And with that Mr. Pierce jumped up,
surprised and pretty mad, and Mr. Van Alstyne saw his mistake.
"I'm sure I beg your pardon!" he said. "The fact is, I was expecting
somebody else, and in the firelight—"
"You surprised me, that's all," said Mr. Pierce. "Under the
circumstances, I'm glad I'm not the other chap."
"You may be," assured Mr. Sam grimly. "You're not unlike him, by the
way. A little taller and heavier, but—"
Now it's all very well for Mr. Sam to say I originated the idea and all
that, but as truly as I am writing this, as I watched his face I saw the
same thought come into it. He looked Mr. Pierce up and down, and then he
stared into the fire and puckered his mouth to whistle, but he didn't.
And finally he glanced at me, but I was looking into the fire, too.
"Just come, haven't you?" he asked. "How did you get up the hill?"
"Walked," said Mr. Pierce, smiling. "It took some digging, too. But
I didn't come for my health, unless you think three meals a day are
necessary for health."
Mr. Sam turned and stared at him. "By Jove! you don't mean it!"
"I wish I didn't," Mr. Pierce replied. "One of the hardest things
I've had to remember for the last ten hours was that for two years I
voluntarily ate only two meals a day. A man's a fool to do a thing like
that! It's reckless."
Mr. Sam got up and began to walk the floor, his hands in his pockets. He
tried to get my eye, but still I looked in the fire.
"All traffic's held up, Minnie," he said. "The eight o'clock train is
stalled beyond the junction, in a drift. I've wired the conductor, and
Carter isn't on it."
"Well?" said I.
"If we could only get past to-day," Mr. Sam went on; "if Thoburn would
only choke to death, or—if there was somebody around who looked like
Dick. I dare say, by to-morrow—" He looked at Mr. Pierce, who smiled
and looked at him.
"And I resemble Dick!" said Mr. Pierce. "Well, if he's a moral and
upright young man—"
"He isn't!" Mr. Sam broke in savagely. And then and there he sat down
and told Mr. Pierce the trouble we were in, and what sort of cheerful
idiot Dicky Carter was, and how everybody liked him, but wished he would
grow up before the family good name was gone, and that now he had a
chance to make good and be self-supporting, and he wasn't around, and
if Mr. Sam ever got his hands on him he'd choke a little sense down his
throat.
And then Mr. Pierce told about the play and the mumps, and how he was
stranded. When Mr. Sam asked him outright if he'd take Mr. Dick's place
overnight he agreed at once.
"I haven't anything to lose," he said, "and anyhow I've been on a diet
of Sweet Peas so long that a sanatorium is about what I need."
"It's like this," explained Mr. Sam, "Old Stitt is pretty thoroughly
jingled—excuse me, Minnie, but it's the fact. I'll take you to his
room, with the lights low, and all you'll need to do is to shake hands
with him. He's going on the early train to-morrow. Then you needn't mix
around much with the guests until to-morrow, and by that time I hope to
have Dick within thrashing distance."
Just as they'd got it arranged that Mr. Pierce was to put on Mr. Sam's
overcoat and walk down to the village so that he could come up in a
sleigh, as if he had driven over from Yorkton—he was only to walk
across the hall in front of the office, with his collar up, just enough
to show himself and then go to his room with a chill—just as it was all
arranged, Mr. Sam thought of something.
"The house people are waiting for Dick," he said to me, "and about forty
women are crocheting in the lobby, so they'll be sure to see him. Won't
some of them know it isn't Dick?"
I thought pretty fast.
"He hasn't been around much lately," I said. "Nobody would know except
Mrs. Wiggins. She'll never forget him; the last time he was here he put
on her false front like a beard and wore it down to dinner."
"Then it's all off," he groaned. "She's got as many eyes as a potato."
"And about as much sense," said I. "Fiddlesticks! She's not so good we
can't replace her, and what's the use of swallowing a camel and then
sticking at a housekeeper?"
"You can't get her out of the house in an hour," he objected, but in a
weak voice.
"I can!" I said firmly.
(I did. Inside of an hour she went to the clerk, Mr. Slocum, and handed
in her resignation. She was a touchy person, but I did NOT say all that
was quoted. I did NOT say the kitchen was filthy; I only said it took
away my appetite to look in at the door. But she left, which is the
point.)
Well, I stood in the doorway and watched them disappear in the darkness,
and I felt better than I had all day. It's great to be able to DO
something, even if that something is wrong. But as I put on my shawl
and turned out the lights, I suddenly remembered. Miss Patty would be
waiting in the lobby for Mr. Dick, and she would not be crocheting! |
