Aunt Jane's Nieces at Work

"That's all humbug!"

"I think so, myself. These people are like a flock of sheep. Get them started a certain way and you can't head them off," observed the dentist.

"Then we must start them our way," declared Hopkins. "I've got the order for these signs in my pocket, and I'll have 'em painted all over the district in a week. Keep your eyes open, Doc. If we've got to fight we won't shirk it; but I don't look for much trouble from a parcel of girls."

Mr. Hopkins was quite cheerful by this time, for he had thought out the situation and his "fighting blood was up," as he expressed it.

He walked away whistling softly to himself and decided that he would go over to the livery stable, get a horse and buggy, drive out into the country, and spend the day talking with the farmers.

But when he turned the corner into the side street where the livery was located he was astonished to find a row of horses and wagons lining each side of the street, and in each vehicle two men in white jumpers and overalls. The men were in charge of huge cans of paints, assorted brushes, ladders, scaffolds and other paraphernalia.

There must have been twenty vehicles, altogether, and some of the rigs were already starting out and driving briskly away in different directions.

Mr. Hopkins was puzzled. He approached one of the white-overalled men who was loading cans of paint into a wagon and inquired:

"Who are you fellows?"

"Sign painters," answered the man, with an amused look.

"Who do you work for?"

"The Carson Advertising Sign Company of Cleveland."

"Oh, I see," replied Hopkins. "Got a big job in this neighborhood?"

"Pretty big, sir."

"Who's your foreman?"

"Smith. He's in the livery office."

Then the man climbed into his wagon and drove away, and Hopkins turned into the livery office. A thin-faced man with sharp eyes was Talking with the proprietor.

"Is this Mr. Smith?" asked Hopkins.

"Yes."

"Of the Carson Advertising Sign Company?"

"Yes."

"Well, I've got a big job for you. My name's Hopkins. I want a hundred big signs painted mighty quick."

"Sorry, sir; we've got all we can handle here for two or three weeks."

"It's got to be done quick or not at all. Can't you send for more men?"

"We've got thirty-eight on this job, and can't get any more for love or money. Had to send to Chicago for some of these."

"Rush job?"

"Yes, sir. You'll have to excuse me. I've got to get started. This is only our second day and we're pretty busy."

"Wait a minute," called the bewildered Hopkins, following Smith to his buggy. "What concern is your firm doing all this painting for?"

"A man named Merrick."

Then the foreman drove away, and Mr. Hopkins was left greatly puzzled.

"Merrick – Merrick!" he repeated. "I don't remember any big advertiser by that name. It must be some new concern. Anyhow, it all helps in my fight against Forbes."

He again returned to the livery office and asked for a rig.

"Everything out, Mr. Hopkins. I've hired everything to be had in town for this sign-painting gang."

But Mr. Hopkins was not to be balked. As long as these sign-painters were doing missionary work for his cause among the farmers, he decided to drive over to Fairview and see the party leaders in that important town. So he went back to Dr. Squiers's house and borrowed the Doctor's horse and buggy.

He drove along the turnpike for a time in silence. Then it struck him that there was a peculiar air of neatness about the places he passed. The barns and fences all seemed newly painted, and he remembered that he hadn't seen an advertising sign since he left town.

A mile farther on he came upon a gang of the sign painters, who with their huge brushes were rapidly painting the entire length of a weather-worn fence with white paint.

Mr. Hopkins reined in and watched them for a few moments.

"You sign-painters don't seem to be getting any signs started," he observed.

"No," replied one of the men, laughing. "This is a peculiar job for our firm to tackle. We've made a contract to paint out every sign in the district."

"Paint 'em out!"

"Yes, cover them up with new paint, and get rid of them."

"But how about the advertisers? Don't they own the spaces now?"

"They did; but they've all been bought up. John Merrick owns the spaces now, and we're working for John Merrick."

"Who's he?"

"Some friend of Mr. Forbes, up at Elmhurst."

Mr. Hopkins was not a profane man, but he said a naughty word. And then he cut his horse so fiercely with the whip that the poor beast gave a neigh of terror, and started down the road at a gallop.

CHAPTER IX

OL' WILL ROGERS

Beth had her folding table out in the rose garden where Kenneth was working at his easel, and while the boy painted she wrote her campaign letters and "editorials."

At first Ken had resented the management of his campaign by his three girl friends; but soon he was grateful for their assistance and proud of their talents. It was at their own request that he refrained from any active work himself, merely appearing at the meetings they planned, where he made his speeches and impressed his hearers with his earnestness. He was really an excellent speaker, and his youth and enthusiasm counted much in his favor.

He protested mildly when Louise invited the Women's Political Club to meet at Elmhurst on Thursday afternoon, but Mr. Watson assured him that this was an important play for popularity, so he promised to meet them. Tables were to be spread upon the lawn, for the late October weather was mild and delightful, and Louise planned to feed the women in a way that they would long remember.

Patsy had charge of the towns and Louise of the country districts, but Beth often aided Louise, who had a great deal of territory to cover.

The automobiles Uncle John had ordered sent down were a great assistance to the girls, and enabled them to cover twice as much territory in a day as would have been done with horses.

But, although they worked so tirelessly and earnestly, it was not all plain sailing with the girl campaigners. Yet though they met with many rebuffs, they met very little downright impertinence. Twice Louise was asked to leave a house where she had attempted to make a proselyte, and once a dog was set upon Beth by an irate farmer, who resented her automobile as much as he did her mission. As for Patsy, she was often told in the towns that "a young girl ought to be in better business than mixing up in politics," and she was sensitive enough once or twice to cry over these reproaches when alone in her chamber. But she maintained a cheerful front; and, in truth, all the girls enjoyed their work immensely.

While Beth and Kenneth were in the garden this sunny afternoon James came to say that a man wanted to see "one of the politics young ladies."

"Shall we send him about his business, Beth?" asked the boy.

"Oh, no; we can't afford to lose a single vote. Bring him here, James, please," said the girl.

So presently a wizened little man in worn and threadbare garments, his hat in his hand, came slowly into the garden. His sunken cheeks were covered with stubby gray whiskers, his shoulders were stooped and bent from hard work, and his hands bore evidences of a life of toil. Yet the eyes he turned upon Beth, as she faced him had a wistful and pleading look that affected her strangely.

"Afternoon, miss," he said, in a hesitating voice. "I – I'm Rogers, miss; ol' Will Rogers. I – I s'pose you hain't heerd o' me before."

"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Rogers," replied the girl in her pleasant voice. "Have you come to see me about the election?"

"It's – it's sump'n 'bout the 'lection, an' then agin it ain't. But I run the chanct o' seein' ye, because we're in desprit straits, an' Nell advised that I hev a talk with ye. 'Frank an' outright,' says Nell. 'Don't beat about the bush,' says she. 'Go right to th' point an' they'll say yes or no."

Beth laughed merrily, and the boy smiled as he wielded his brush with delicate strokes.

"Ye mustn't mind me, miss," said Will Rogers, in a deprecating tone. "I'm – I'm sommut broke up an' discouraged, an' ain't th' man I used to be. Nell knows that, an' she orter came herself; but it jes' made her cry to think o' it, an' so I says I'll come an' do the best I kin."

Beth was really interested now.

"Sit down on this bench, Mr. Rogers," she said, "and I'll listen to whatever you have to say."

He sat down willingly, bent forward as he rested upon the garden bench, and twirled his hat slowly in his hands.

"'Taint easy, ye know, miss, to say some things, an' this is one o' the hardest," he began.

"Go on," said Beth, encouragingly, for old Will had suddenly stopped short and seemed unable to proceed.

"They say, miss, as you folks is a-spendin' uv a lot o' money on this election, a-gittin' votes, an' sich like," he said, in an altered tone.

"It costs a little to run a political campaign," acknowledged Beth.

"They say money's bein' poured out liken water – to git votes," he persisted.

"Well, Mr. Rogers?"

"Well, thet's how it started, ye see. We're so agonizin' poor, Nell thought we orter git some o' the money while it's goin'."

The girl was much amused. Such frankness was both unusual and refreshing.

"Have you a vote to sell?" she asked.

He did not answer at once, but sat slowly twirling his hat.

"That's jet' what Nell thought ye'd ask," he said, finally, "an' she knew if ye did it was all up with our plan. Guess I'll be goin', miss."

He rose slowly from his seat, but the girl did not intend to lose any of the fun this queer individual might yet furnish.

"Sit down, Mr. Rogers," she said, "and tell me why you can't answer my questions?"

"I guess I'll hev to speak out an' tell all," said he, his voice trembling a little, "although I thought fer a minnit I could see my way without. I can't sell my vote, miss, 'cause I've been plannin' t'vote fer Mr. Forbes anyhow. But we wanted some uv th' money that's being wasted, an' we wanted it mighty bad."

"Why?"

"Thet's the hard part uv it, miss; but I'm goin' to tell you. Did ye ever hear o' Lucy?"

"No, Mr. Rogers."

"Lucy's our girl – the on'y chick er child we ever had. She's a pretty girl, is Lucy; a good deal liken her mother; wi' the same high spirits my Nell had afore she broke down. Mostly Nell cries, nowadays."

"Yes. Go on."

"Lucy had a schoolin', an' we worked hard to give it her, fer my land ain't much account, nohow. An' when she grew up she had more boys comin' to see her than any gal this side o' Fairview, an' one o' 'em caught Lucy's fancy. But she was too young to marry, an' she wanted to be earnin' money; so she got a job workin' fer Doc Squiers, over to Elmwood. He's the dentist there, an' Lucy helped with the housework an' kept the office slicked up, an' earned ev'ry penny she got."

He stopped here, and looked vacantly around.

Beth tried to help the old man.

"And then?" she asked, softly.

"Then come the trouble, miss. One day ol' Mis' Squiers, the Doc's mother, missed a di'mon' ring. She laid it on the mantel an' it was gone, an' she said as Lucy took it. Lucy didn't take it, an' after they'd tried to make my gal confess as she was a thief they give 'er three days to hand up the ring or the money it was worth, or else they'd hev her arrested and sent t' jail. Lucy didn't take it, ye know. She jes' couldn't do sech a thing, natcherly."

"I know," said Beth, sympathetically.

"So she comes home, heartbroken, an' told us about it, an' we didn't hev th' money nuther. It were sixty dollars they wanted, or th' ring; an' we didn't hev neither of 'em."

"Of course not."

"Well, Tom come over thet night to see Lucy, hearin' she was home, an' – "

"Who is Tom?"

"Thet's Tom Gates, him thet – but I'm comin' to thet, miss. Tom always loved Lucy, an' wanted to marry her; but his folks is as poor as we are, so the young 'uns had to wait. Tom worked at the mill over t' Fairview – the big saw-mill where they make the lumber an' things."

"I know."

"He was the bookkeeper, fer Tom had schoolin', too; an' he took private lessons in bookkeepin' from ol' Cheeseman. So he had got hired at the mill, an' had a likely job, an' was doin' well. An' when Tom heerd about Lucy's trouble, an' thet she had only two days left before goin' to jail, he up an' says: 'I'll get the money, Lucy: don' you worry a bit.' 'Oh, Tom!' says she, 'hev you got sixty dollars saved already?' 'I've got it, Lucy,' says he, 'an' I'll go over tomorrow an' pay Doc Squiers. Don' you worry any more. Forget all about it.' Well o' course, miss, that helped a lot. Nell an' Lucy both felt the disgrace of the thing, but it wouldn't be a public disgrace, like goin' to jail; so we was all mighty glad Tom had that sixty dollars."

"It was very fortunate," said Beth, filling in another pause.

"The nex' day Tom were as good as his word. He paid Doc Squiers an' got a receipt an' giv it to Lucy. Then we thought th' trouble was over, but it had on'y just begun. Monday mornin' Tom was arrested over t' the mill fer passin' a forged check an' gettin' sixty dollars on it. Lucy was near frantic with grief. She walked all the way to Fairview, an' they let her see Tom in the jail. He tol' her it was true he forged th' check, but he did it to save her. He was a man an' it wouldn't hurt fer him to go to jail so much as it would a girl. He said he was glad he did it, an' didn't mind servin' a sentence in prison. I think, miss, as Tom meant thet – ev'ry word uv it. But Lucy broke down under the thing an' raved an' cried, an' nuther Nell ner I could do anything with her. She said she'd ruined Tom's life an' all thet, an' she didn't want to live herself. Then she took sick, an' Nell an' I nursed her as careful as we could. How'n the wurld she ever got away we can't make out, nohow."

"Did she get away?" asked the girl, noting that the old man's eyes were full of tears and his lips trembling.

"Yes, miss. She's bin gone over ten days, now, an' we don't even know where to look fer her; our girl – our poor Lucy. She ain't right in her head, ye know, or she'd never a done it. She'd never a left us like this in th' world. 'Taint like our Lucy."

Kenneth had turned around on his stool and was regarding old Will Rogers earnestly, brush and pallet alike forgotten. Beth was trying to keep the tears out of her own eyes, for the old man's voice was even more pathetic than his words.

"Ten days ago!" said Kenneth. "And she hasn't been found yet?"

"We can't trace her anywhere, an' Nell has broke down at las', an' don't do much but cry. It's hard, sir – I can't bear to see Nell cry. She'd sich high sperrits, onct."

"Where's the boy Tom?" asked Kenneth, somewhat gruffly.

"He's in the jail yet, waitin' to be tried. Court don't set till next week, they say."

"And where do you live, Rogers?"

"Five miles up the Fairview road. 'Taint much of a place – Nell says I've always bin a shif'les lot, an' I guess it's true. Yesterday your hired men painted all the front o' my fence – painted it white – not only where th' signs was, but th' whole length of it. We didn't ask it done, but they jes' done it. I watched 'em, an' Nell says if we on'y had th' money thet was wasted on thet paint an' labor, we might find our Lucy. 'It's a shame,' says Nell, 'all thet 'lection money bein' thrown away on paint when it might save our poor crazy child.' I hope it ain't wrong, sir; but thet's what I thought, too. So we laid plans fer me to come here today. Ef I kin get a-hold o' any o' thet money honest, I want to do it."

"Have you got a horse?" asked Kenneth.

"Not now. I owned one las' year, but he died on me an' I can't get another nohow."

"Did you walk here?" asked Beth.

"Yes, miss; o' course. I've walked the hull county over a-tryin' to find Lucy. I don' mind the walking much."

There was another pause, while old Will Rogers looked anxiously at the boy and the girl, and they looked at each other. Then Beth took out her purse.

"I want to hire your services to help us in the election," she said, briskly. "I'll furnish you a horse and buggy and you can drive around and talk with people and try to find Lucy at the same time. This twenty dollars is to help you pay expenses. You needn't account for it; just help us as much as you can."

The old man straightened up and his eyes filled again.

"Nell said if it was a matter o' charity I mustn't take a cent," he observed, in a low voice.

'"It isn't charity. It's business. And now that we know your story we mean to help you find your girl. Anyone would do that, you know. Tell me, what is Lucy like?"

"She's like Nell used to be."

"But we don't know your wife. Describe Lucy as well as you can. Is she tall?"

"Middlin', miss."

"Light or dark?"

"Heh?"

"Is her hair light or dark colored?"

"Middlin'; jes' middlin', miss."

"Well, is she stout or thin?"

"I should say sorter betwixt an' between, miss."

"How old is Lucy?"

"Jes' turned eighteen, miss."

"Never mind, Beth," interrupted the boy; "you won't learn much from old Will's description. But we'll see what can be done tomorrow. Call James and have him sent home in the rig he's going to use. It seems to me you're disposing rather freely of my horses and carts."

"Yes, Ken. You've nothing to say about your belongings just now. But if you object to this plan – "

"I don't. The girl must be found, and her father is more likely to find her than a dozen other searchers. He shall have the rig and welcome."

So it was that Will Rogers drove back to his heartbroken wife in a smart top-buggy, with twenty dollars in his pocket and a heart full of wonder and thanksgiving.

CHAPTER X

The Forged Check

Kenneth and Beth refrained from telling the other girls or Uncle John of old Will Rogers's visit, but they got Mr. Watson in the library and questioned him closely about the penalty for forging a check.

It was a serious crime indeed, Mr. Watson told them, and Tom Gates bade fair to serve a lengthy term in state's prison as a consequence of his rash act.

"But it was a generous act, too," said Beth.

"I can't see it in that light," said the old lawyer. "It was a deliberate theft from his employers to protect a girl he loved. I do not doubt the girl was unjustly accused. The Squierses are a selfish, hard-fisted lot, and the old lady, especially, is a well known virago. But they could not have proven a case against Lucy, if she was innocent, and all their threats of arresting her were probably mere bluff. So this boy was doubly foolish in ruining himself to get sixty dollars to pay an unjust demand."

"He was soft-hearted and impetuous," said Beth; "and, being in love, he didn't stop to count the cost."

"That is no excuse, my dear," declared Mr. Watson. "Indeed there is never an excuse for crime. The young man is guilty, and he must suffer the penalty."

"Is there no way to save him?" asked Kenneth.

"If the prosecution were withdrawn and the case settled with the victim of the forged check, then the young man would be allowed his freedom. But under the circumstances I doubt if such an arrangement could be made."

"We're going to try it, anyhow," was the prompt decision.

So as soon as breakfast was over the next morning Beth and Kenneth took one of the automobiles, the boy consenting unwillingly to this sort of locomotion because it would save much time. Fairview was twelve miles away, but by ten o'clock they drew up at the county jail.

They were received in the little office by a man named Markham, who was the jailer. He was a round-faced, respectable appearing fellow, but his mood was distinctly unsociable.

"Want to see Tom Gates, eh? Well! what for?" he demanded.

"We wish to talk with him," answered Kenneth.

"Talk! what's the good? You're no friend of Tom Gates. I can't be bothered this way, anyhow."

"I am Kenneth Forbes, of Elmhurst. I'm running for Representative on the Republican ticket," said Kenneth, quietly.

"Oh, say! that's different," observed Markham, altering his demeanor. "You mustn't mind my being gruff and grumpy, Mr. Forbes. I've just stopped smoking a few days ago, and it's got on my nerves something awful!"

"May we see Gates at once?" asked Kenneth.

"Sure-ly! I'll take you to his cell, myself. It's just shocking how such a little thing as stoppin' smoking will rile up a fellow. Come this way, please."

They followed the jailer along a succession of passages.

"Smoked ever sence I was a boy, you know, an' had to stop last week because Doc said it would kill me if I didn't," remarked the jailer, leading the way. "Sometimes I'm that yearning for a smoke I'm nearly crazy, an' I dunno which is worst, dyin' one way or another. This is Gates' cell – the best in the shop."

He unlocked the door, and called:

"Here's visitors, Tom."

"Thank you, Mr. Markham," replied a quiet voice, as a young man came forward from the dim interior of the cell. "How are you feeling, today?"

"Worse, Tom; worse 'n ever," replied the jailer, gloomily.

"Well, stick it out, old man; don't give in."

"I won't, Tom. Smokin' 'll kill me sure, an' there's a faint hope o' livin' through this struggle to give it up. This visitor is Mr. Forbes of Elmhurst, an' the young lady is – "

"Miss DeGraf," said Kenneth, noticing the boy's face critically, as he stood where the light from the passage fell upon it. "Will you leave us alone, please, Mr. Markham?"

"Sure-ly, Mr. Forbes. You've got twenty minutes according to regulations. I'll come and get you then. Sorry we haven't any reception room in the jail. All visits has to be made in the cells."

Then he deliberately locked Kenneth and Beth in with the forger, and retreated along the passage.

"Sit down, please," said Gates, in a cheerful and pleasant voice. "There's a bench here."

"We've come to inquire about your case, Gates," said Kenneth. "It seems you have forged a check."

"Yes, sir, I plead guilty, although I've been told I ought not to confess. But the fact is that I forged the check and got the money, and I'm willing to stand the consequences."

"Why did you do it?" asked Beth.

He was silent and turned his face away.

A fresh, wholesome looking boy, was Tom Gates, with steady gray eyes, an intelligent forehead, but a sensitive, rather weak mouth. He was of sturdy, athletic build and dressed neatly in a suit that was of coarse material but well brushed and cared for.

Beth thought his appearance pleasing and manly. Kenneth decided that he was ill at ease and in a state of dogged self-repression.

"We have heard something of your story," said Kenneth, "and are interested in it. But there is no doubt you have acted very foolishly."

"Do you know Lucy, sir?" asked the young man.

"No."

"Lucy is very proud. The thing was killing her, and I couldn't bear it. I didn't stop to think whether it was foolish or not. I did it; and I'm glad I did."

"You have made her still more unhappy," said Beth, gently.

"Yes; she'll worry about me, I know. I'm disgraced for life; but I've saved Lucy from any disgrace, and she's young. She'll forget me before I've served my term, and – and take up with some other young fellow."

"Would you like that?" asked Beth.

"No, indeed," he replied, frankly. "But it will be best that way. I had to stand by Lucy – she's so sweet and gentle, and so sensitive. I don't say I did right. I only say I'd do the same thing again."

"Couldn't her parents have helped her?" inquired Kenneth.

"No. Old Will is a fine fellow, but poor and helpless since Mrs. Rogers had her accident."

"Oh, did she have an accident?" asked Beth.

"Yes. Didn't you know? She's blind."

"Her husband didn't tell us that," said the girl.

"He was fairly prosperous before that, for Mrs. Rogers was an energetic and sensible woman, and kept old Will hard at work. One morning she tried to light the fire with kerosene, and lost her sight. Then Rogers wouldn't do anything but lead her around, and wait upon her, and the place went to rack and ruin."

"I understand now," said Beth.

"Lucy could have looked after her mother," said young Bates, "but old Will was stubborn and wouldn't let her. So the girl saw something must be done and went to work. That's how all the trouble came about."