VI
THE TRADERS
"IS there any particular reason why I shouldn't slaughter you?" inquired John Phillips, peering out of the tiny-paned window at the bleak Maine landscape.
McHenry withdrew a dozen hard-looking textbooks from the heaviest suit-case and grinned.
"I didn't know any more about it than you did," he parried. "We all agreed that we'd like to see what a Maine winter is like, so I wrote to the postmaster, and he recommended this Captain Jenks. Don't blame me if you don't like it. And you took seventeen dollars out of me on the train—what's your kick? I wonder why they call this guy 'Captain'?"
"I asked him," said Phillips. "Once about forty years ago he commanded a lumber scow down the river to Wiscasset, and they've called him Captain ever since. He's a great sketch. He's justice of the peace, and road commissioner, and selectman, and school board, and overseer of the poor, and has an insurance agency—but that doesn't alter the fact that this is one unholy little dump, and the sooner we get out of it the better."
Before McHenry could frame an adequate response, Ted Sewall came through the doorway, stooping so as not to fracture his skull.
"Look here, Pepper," he protested. "When we said it would be a bully idea to spend part of this Christmas vacation on a farm, I don't remember that anybody mentioned a mausoleum! Do you realize that we 're four miles from the village, and seven from the narrow-gage, and twenty-six from a town big enough to support a barber and a pool table? Why, the best cigars they've got at the local store—they call it Slater's Emporium—are Yankee Stars, two for five! And we're marooned here in a shack where there isn't even running water!"
"That's so," agreed McHenry, folding his pajamas neatly. "I suppose the river does freeze over in the winter time."
Monk Spinden burst upon them, waving his rifle-case wildly.
"You miserable imitation of a piker!" he wailed. You let me carry this thing all the way from Cambridge—and that horny-handed son of toil downstairs says there hasn't been anything bigger than a rabbit in this region since the Civil War!"
"Good Lord!" flashed McHenry, pausing in the occupation of opening a box of cigars, "I'm no authority on live-stock! When I wrote to the Captain and asked if it made any difference if we brought guns, he said it didn't to him—and that's all I know about it. You fellows make me sick. All I said was that according to his letter this sounded like a nice, quiet hole where we could watch the thermometer drop, and get some good skating and snowshoeing, and home cooking, and have time to do a little studying on the side. Well—I still say so. What are you going to do about it?"
"Four miles from the village," mourned Phillips, and a hundred and sixty population when you get there! Not even respectable smoking tobacco—or a moving-picture show!"
"Six solid hours to get there!" said Sewall. "Broad-gage, narrow-gage, and Juno the fiery and untamed steed—say, why didn't we stay in Cambridge, and go to see 'The Old Homestead'?"
"This looks to me like a perfectly regular farm," stated McHenry, producing a fur cap with large ear-tabs. "You didn't expect the comforts of the Waldorf for six dollars a week, did you? What do you want?"
The three other Harvard men looked at him with intent to paralyze.
"And after all your blowing about this part of the country," accused Spinden, "there isn't even any snow."
"I'll order some at once," sniffed McHenry.
"No fires in our rooms, and the Captain says it gets down to ten or fifteen below zero every night," shivered Sewall.
"I'll have it changed' retorted Pepper.
"I vote we make Pepper buy the return tickets, and go home," said Phillips.
"I'm with you," snapped Sewall.
"Oh, let's try it for a day or two," temporized Spinden, who hated to go home without at least a rabbit when he had so confidently predicted at least a deer to his admiring friends.
"Look!" cried McHenry, pointing to the open window. "There's quick action for you! Isn't it exciting, girls?"
The three rushed to look.
"Where? Where?" they chorused.
"Everywhere," said McHenry complacently. "It's snowing!"
II
On the following morning Phillips awoke to find that through his injudiciously opened window the snow had drifted to a depth of several inches, and that both his shoes and his camera were ruined. Although it was hardly six o'clock, he went in and punched McHenry in the ribs, with the announcement that he expected Pepper to make good, and that he would brain him if he didn't.
Half an hour later Spinden appeared, speechless with anger because his watch, which he had carelessly left exposed to the elements, was frozen and probably couldn't be repaired. He opined that McHenry should purchase him a new watch, a rather expensive one, with modern improvements.
Just before breakfast Sewall came in to narrate how he had risen in the night to save the contents of his Gladstone bag from utter destruction, and had caught a violent cold which must straightway be treated by the local physician at McHenry's expense. Sewall coughed violently several times to show that the expense would probably be considerable.
At least there was an opportunity for the men to contemplate the beauties of nature, for there was nothing but nature to be seen as far as the eye could reach, and it was still snowing consistently.
The Captain, who was a weather-beaten old gentleman with tearful blue eyes, declared that it was a genuine blizzard, and that there wasn't the faintest possibility of getting out of Sheepscot for several days. The narrow-gage, he said, wouldn't run in such weather—never did, never had, never would. No, there was nothing smacking of revelry in town. The boys might go over to the Emporium and hear the old-timers talk Jacksonian democracy, or they could play with the kittens. There had been a set of dominoes in the house three or four years ago, but it didn't seem to be around anywhere—
Spinden, Sewall, and Phillips faced McHenry threateningly.
"Well," he defended, "you all got into me playing poker on the way down here—"
At that the storm broke loose, and for five minutes McHenry was outvoiced, outgeneraled, and outclassed. When the triumvirate had finished with him, it dissolved, and sought what amusement it could find in a secluded Maine farmhouse in December. Chiefly, it found seclusion.
Sewall sat down at the old organ and compelled it to run through the repertoire of popular music of the vintage of 1885 which he found in a soap-box in the attic.
Phillips pawed over the family album, now and then rising from one horse-hair specimen of furniture to try the next, and relinquishing that also when its structural properties became too apparent.
Spinden attached himself to the artistic and literary curiosities which abounded in the front parlor, and stored away in his memory the minutiæ of the carpet-covered brick which held open the door, the gilded milking-stool which flanked the Franklin stove, the air-castle which hovered over the marble-topped walnut center-table, the ancient easel bearing a picture of some one's ancestor, the whatnot with its wax flowers, and its hunk of putty into which buttons, bullets, seashells, horse-chestnuts, and other post-Renaissance objets d'art had been thrust.
McHenry, the outcast, sulked in a corner, and read Godey's Lady's Book for 1862.
"Well' said Phillips, sighing deeply, "let's play poker."
Accordingly they gathered around a lap-board usually consecrated to the mending of the Captain's socks, and whipsawed McHenry for twenty-two dollars by dinner-time. The silent, uncommunicative Captain came to lean on the lambrequin-hung mantel and watch them; and steadily the snow banked against the old farmhouse.
"Up a dollar," remarked Sewall suddenly. "Your dad's a broker. Pep—you can stand a raise of a dollar, can't you?"
That was what gave McHenry the idea.
III
When the four men returned to the parlor, specifically excluding the family cat from the session, the Captain strolled in and took up his old position at the mantel.
"They 're waxin' you, ain't they?" he inquired of McHenry, and McHenry nodded soberly.
At the end of an hour Phillips, who was the heavy winner, tossed the remnant of his cigar in the stove, and mentioned the fact that it was his last.
"I didn't bring any," regretted Spinden.
"Mine are gone," said Sewall.
"I'll whoop it for ten," declared McHenry, pushing forward ten of the sulphur-matches which served as chips. The hand proceeded, and Pepper was relieved of legal securities amounting to seven dollars, the reason being three aces against a flush on a two-card draw, than which few contingencies tend more to soften and conciliate one's fellow men.
"Come on. Pep," urged Phillips. "Where's that box you brought?"
"Upstairs," said Pepper. "I'll crack her for two of these hell-sticks!"
The Captain snorted, but when they glanced up at him, his face was impassive.
"I'll stay with it. Bring 'em down, Pep."
"Can't," said McHenry.
"Why not?"
"Exchange hasn't opened yet."
"Exchange? What exchange?"
"The Sheepscot Consolidated Stock Exchange," explained McHenry, laying down a king-high straight against Sewall's four sevens.
Sewall gathered in the matches, and pondered.
"What idiotic nonsense is this?" he demanded. "Don't be a prune, Pepper. We're all out of cigars."
"I know it," agreed McHenry. "There's lots of time. The exchange is open from five to six."
"Do you honestly mean to say you won't let us have a smoke?"
"You fellows," said Pepper, "want me to pay your fares, and your doctor's bills and your—your personal liabilities, and support you for the next few months on the proceeds of this national game—and I simply can't afford to provide you with cigars, at the present state of the market. I'll up that a half!"
Again they whipsawed him.
"What did they cost you?" frowned Spinden.
"By the box—oh, about fourteen cents apiece."
"I'll buy the box for five dollars."
"Not a chance," he refused.
Phillips looked at the clock.
"Well," he averred grimly, "we can take enough out of you by five o'clock so that a few cigars won't make much difference, Pep. I'll lift you a couple!"
Precisely at five minutes of five, McHenry went to his room, and reappeared shortly with a placard bearing the inscription, "Sheepscot Consolidated Stock Exchange," and a large number of ruled sheets. He also brought a box of attractive perfectos, which he placed on the table. He lighted one for himself, and the others beamed at the smoke.
"The exchange is open for fifteen minutes," announced McHenry placidly. "The only commodity to-day is perfectos preferred—but I don't mind telling you that I've got a box of panetelas common upstairs. However—we're open."
Spinden and Sewall and Phillips heard a smothered gulp from the Captain, but they ignored him.
What's the price?" asked Sewall curiously.
"Market opens strong, with pronounced upward tendency," droned McHenry, as though reading from the ticker. "Perfectos three-eighths—"
"What! Three-eighths! Thirty seven and a half cents!"
"Perfectos three-eighths, up an eighth—perfectos a half—a half. Wednesday panetelas a quarter, Thursday panetelas three-eighths—three-eighths—"
"He's selling futures in those cigars!" gasped Spinden. "I'll be darned if I'll stand for it! Let's boycott him! Where's the Captain?"
"Closing prices—"
"Darn you!" growled PhiUips. "I'll stumble! I want a smoke!"
"Exchange has closed," droned Pepper. "Closing prices, perfectos a half, panetelas three-eighths!"
He picked up the box of cigars and carried it upstairs.
"I won't stand for it!" cried Sewall. "We can go up to the Emporium and get something to smoke! We'll hire the Captain to go for us!"
The Captain was not in the least enthusiastic. He alleged that there was three feet of snow on the ground, and a head wind would make progress all but impossible. Furthermore he was able to recite the various brands of tobacco carried by the Emporium. The three malefactors of McHenry's wealth groaned in unison. They dined in great ill-humor, and did not recover their spirits even when afterwards they continued to whipsaw McHenry for large sections of his ample allowance.
"But Pep can't stick it out," said Sewall to Spinden as they went to bed. "He can't last—he's too good-natured. At the present time—what a mean trick!"
"I'll bet anything you name he'll stick it out," contradicted Spinden mournfully.
"Well, I'll take a chance. I'll tell you—suppose we go into this on a professional basis. All transactions to be completed before we leave Sheepscot. I'm so sure of Pep that I'll sell you short all the cigars you want—at his closing price to-night."
"Half a dollar for a smoke? Nix!"
"But, my dear man, don't you understand the stock market? If I sell short, and can't deliver the cigars, I'll have to pay any price Pep puts on 'em, and take a loss. I'm so sure of him that I'd risk all I've got on it. He'll never hold out."
"Just for that I'll take you," accepted Spinden. "I'll agree to buy ten perfectos from you at fifty cents apiece before—before—when do you suppose we can get out of this hole?"
"Well—say Monday. Will that do?"
"Monday it is," consented Spinden, and then he was so delighted with the workings of the stock exchange that he intruded upon Phillips' privacy, told him about it, and persuaded John also to sell him ten cigars short—for Monday delivery.
In the meantime Pepper McHenry, having lost something over a hundred dollars at poker, and making sure that he and his friends were absolutely snowed in at Sheepscot, contracted with the Captain for the morrow. The Captain was overjoyed at modern politics, and liked the color of Pepper's money—why should he worry?
IV
After assuring themselves that it would be foolhardy to try to reach the village while it was still snowing, the three men who represented the lambs of Wall Street strolled into the parlor, where they discovered a quotation board manufactured from an old slate. The market, it seemed, was open—with a pronounced bull movement. Pepper was smoking a fragrant Havana, and seemed cheerful.
Phillips was unable to hold out longer.
"I'll take twenty of those perfectos at the market," he said, although the price was now five-eighths—showing a rather substantial profit for McHenry. Pepper shook his head.
"When were you elected to this exchange?" he queried. "When did you buy a seat?"
"A—what?"
"Seat," repeated Pepper, blowing a beautiful smoke-ring. "You have to have a seat, you know, before you can trade. Perhaps I ought to say that there's only one left."
"So—so the man who buys it has to do all the business for the others?"
"That's it exactly."
"You coward!"
"You'd rob a cradle, McHenry!"
"Sure I would' admitted Pepper, "if I thought I could get away with it."
"Well, what's the price of a seat?"
"I guess—we'll settle it by auction."
The men who had whipsawed him were not as happy as they had been. They exchanged glances of analysis.
"I'll bid a dollar," said Sewall promptly.
"Two," said Spinden.
There were no other bids, so that the non-smokers brightened.
"I'll bid ten," decided McHenry solemnly.
"Ten—I'll go twelve!"
"Fifteen!" said McHenry.
"Oh, Pep—be a sport!"
"Were you sports when you got me between you on that ace full?"
"Twenty," gulped Spinden, who also had an idea.
"It's yours," granted McHenry. "You're broker for the other fellows. Want to buy anything?"
"Yes. I'll take ten—here! What are you doing?"
"Indications are that the market's going to be active," judged Pepper. "Everything goes up!"
"Here—give me ten!"
"Buy ten for me, Monk!" said Phillips.
Spinden grinned. He had won least of the three at poker, and he hadn't a great deal of money.
"Twenty percent commission is what we usually get in Sheepscot."
"Well, I'll be darned!" said Sewall, falling into one of the hair-cloth chairs.
Yet within the minute all four men were smoking prodigiously, and Pepper had carefully put away several I O U's for amounts that are not usually associated with such every-day luxuries as cigars. Spinden was the first to realize his precarious position as a short on a rising market. Deeming discretion the better part of finance, he bought ten more perfectos, and delivered them to Sewall at a net loss of a dollar and sixty cents. That transaction was what gave Sewall an idea.
The market was dull for the next ten minutes, after which the sole broker executed heavy buying orders for Thursday and Friday panetelas. Then, as might naturally be expected, Sewall and Phillips and Spinden began trading among themselves, so that prices declined; and as McHenry had only the two boxes of cigars, his strategic position suffered. Immediately before the dinner bell summoned them, however, he produced a flask, and placed it beside him. The Captain, who had been leaning against the mantel, allowed his eyes to glisten.
"What's the price of that there stock?" he stammered.
"This is on me," bowed Pepper, tendering the flask and a cigar to their host. "To the general public this is quoted at seven-eighths—up an eighth—and the supply strictly limited."
Well, they were shipwrecked in a lonely Maine farm-house, and they were very normal human beings. McHenry was forced to raise the selling price three times in order to conserve a small amount of his property for the future.
They went out to the dining-room. That was what gave Phillips his idea.
V
Now that there was plenty to smoke, the incarceration wasn't so bad. The only drawback was that Spinden and Sewall and Phillips consumed their tobacco much faster than McHenry. Throughout the long afternoon they simply sat and smoked and talked of Cambridge, and what they would do when they got back, and how they would magnify the size of the big game in the nighborhood of Sheepscot, so that all would envy them. Finally Phillips yawned and mentioned poker.
"All right," said Sewall. "The books are open."
"The books—what books?"
"Organized sport," Sewall told him. "This is a gentleman's club. I'm the officers. It costs each and every player five percent for the kitty, and a dollar to start. Are you ready?"
"I won't stand for it!" maintained Spinden. It's a hold-up. Those cards aren't yours!"
"Oh, but they are!" insisted Sewall. "I bought 'em right after dinner. Didn't I, Captain?"
The Captain nodded.
"Oh, very well—aren't there some dominoes, or something?"
"There are, but I own 'em too."
McHenry laughed outright, and acknowledged the indications of genius. He had by this time made up fully twenty-five dollars of his losses, and felt better. He said that he was perfectly willing to play if the rest were, and after a great amount of grumbling they set about it, while the snow continued to fall, and civilization was as far away as ever.
"And now," smiled Phillips, as the game came to an end with no one loser or gainer to any appreciable amount, save that the kitty put thirty dollars in Sewall's pocket, "let's open the exchange for a few minutes."
"What for? We've all got something to smoke."
"Let's open it anyway. It's just occurred to me that there's no sense in our paying Monk twenty percent commission on these sales. I move we're all brokers after this."
"Motion overruled," said McHenry promptly.
"V-e-r-y well. Then over on this side of the room is the Sheepscot Produce Exchange—foodstuffs."
"Buncoed!" gasped Pepper.
"Dished!"
"I'll let you all in easy," promised Phillips, while the Captain nearly smiled. "I've cornered the market, I'll tell you now. Meal tickets two dollars each, or à la carte as you wish. I've got every edible thing in this house sewed up by arrangement with the Captain, so you'd better shell out if you want to do anything in the eating line!"
"John," said Pepper hastily, "let's call it all off. I'll throw in my cigars if you'll throw in the grub."
"Don't mention it, my dear fellow. I couldn't dream of it. I want my money back!"
"Can we pay by the week?" asked Sewall meekly.
"No, sir. You've all stung me, one way or another—cigars, commissions, or the kitty—and I can't possibly tell now whether prices will advance or not. The present meal costs two dollars!"
The other three exchanged I O U's for the privilege of eating; but as soon as the meal was finished. Spinden buttonholed the Captain's wife for the purpose of discussing the hot-water situation with her, Sewall cornered the Captain on the subject of fires and firewood, and McHenry bided his time to make a proposition which would grant him a definite lease on every room in the house, leaving the woodshed for those who wouldn't pay for their accommodations.
They all reached an agreement at eight o'clock; and because no man would give up his valuable options, they formed a genuine consolidated exchange, on which all four fought and bickered until bedtime. The underlying motive behind it all was that each man wanted to make a little profit on the trip—not much, but just enough to call it a profit; and so each one of them refused to sell full rights to anything. Phillips positively refused to quote rations more than one meal in advance; McHenry raised the rate of cigars until it was almost prohibitive; Spinden charged a dollar for enough hot water for shaving, with the shaving mug a dollar extra, and a bath twenty cents a quart; and Sewall reaped a golden harvest on the poker game, although he did succumb to Phillips' urgent entreaties, and gave him a perpetual ticket for ten dollars.
By Sunday morning it was impossible to secure cutlery without paying for it; there was a rental charged for letter paper; and Spinden, scenting a flaw in McHenry's lease of the parlor, got a chattel lease on the furniture, and achieved a compromise at no small advantage to himself. The Captain entered into the sport most heartily, and intimated to Sewall that he hadn't enjoyed himself so much in fifty years, but that he was a little mite suspicious as to how it was all going to turn out. Sewall said that it was all fun, and for the sake of whiling away time, but the Captain only winked, and made no comment.
The Captain's wife, too, was cheerful, for she was also profiting on the various leases in various ways, and altogether, since every one was fairly well satisfied, what harm was it? She made one stipulation, however, and clung to it religiously—no one could have a monopoly of beds or bedclothing, because she didn't intend to have any one of those nice young men making the others pay for the privilege of turning in under the best patchwork quilts in the state of Maine.
Sunday afternoon was the crisis of the week. It had stopped snowing early that morning, and by twelve o'clock a dismal fall of sleet had turned to rain. The soft snow had made journeying impossible, but when much of it was melted, and the surface was frozen, it would be a matter of only a few hours before the narrow-gage began running, and the Captain's sleigh could skip over the glassy surface of the roads to the distant station.
All four traders saw the threatened break in the general market, and started out each to make his killing. Phillips was in the best position, and knew it. He admitted that meals were to be had, but coffee was now a quarter a cup, and all else in proportion. Unanimously they censured him for inhuman monopoly, but he only shrugged his shoulders, and waited to be manhandled in turn. Spinden decided that a shave was worth two dollars, so only Spinden shaved. Sewall determined that his gentleman's club should have an initiation fee, but the rest claimed to have had their fill of cards, and wouldn't play. McHenry, who had hoarded his cigars, found that the others were all consumed, and was horrified to learn that rather than pay one and a half for a good perfecto, his friends were now willing to forego the pleasure for a day or so. Only Phillips and Sewall were short the ten cigars which Spinden had once agreed to buy from each of them, and it cost them fifteen dollars apiece to cover! The furniture trust was shattered by the simple fact that everybody could sit free in the kitchen. It was a great coup for Phillips, and he made the most of it.
On Sunday night the countryside presented the appearance of a vast lake—on Monday the four men were able to leave the farm-house for the first time since they entered it; the narrow-gage made a trial trip, and the Captain brought back word from the village that regular runs would be resumed on Tuesday. Spinden packed his rifle, McHenry his books (which he hadn't opened), and Phillips his camera, and on Tuesday at nine o'clock they were ready for the katabasis to Cambridge.
The Captain's wife beamed around the circle, and hoped they'd come again. They all lied about it, and said that they would.
"And now," began McHenry, "let's settle. Captain. I figure we owe you eight dollars and sixty cents apiece."
"That's right," said the Captain, and accepted the stipend.
"Good-by, Mrs. Jenks—"
"Just a minute," begged Sewall, who was now the heavy loser. "It costs ten dollars to travel in this sleigh, you know I I've got the sole right to it. Pony up, boys!"
"Foiled!"
"Ted, you're a wizard!"
"Gee! I wish I'd thought of that!" said McHenry.
"There's something else," suggested the Captain, making no attempt to conceal his emotion. "You see, I'm excise inspector here, an' Mr. McHenry brought licker into this state contrary to the form o' the statoot in such cases—"
"Stung!" said Pepper lugubriously. "I forgot all about that!"
"An' Mr. Sewall, he run a reg'lar poker game—gents' club, he called it. Now, I'm depitty sheriff here—"
"Zowie!" whistled Sewall.
"Besides, I saw ye all gamblin' on the Lord's Day. Now, I'm jestice o' the peace here—"
"What else, what else?" demanded Phillips.
"Huntin' without a license—Mr. Spinden went out this mornin'—"
"For rabbits!"
"With a 30-30? I guess not. Not in a town where I'm game warden!"
"Altogether—" faltered McHenry.
"I won't be hard on ye," said the inscrutable one. "I could—I'm all the officers o' the law there is in Sheepscot, but I won't—say a hundred dollars for the crowd, an' let it go at that—oh, and the rest o' them cigars!"
"A hundred," whispered Sewall. "What'll that leave us to get back to Cambridge with?"
They hastily examined their resources. The subtraction of a hundred from the gross amount would leave the bare requirement of their train fares to Boston, without provision for Pullman chairs from Wiscasset, lunch on the diner, cigars in the buffet car, or refreshments on the road.
"Say," said Pepper McHenry, "let's call the whole thing off! Let's chip in all around, and forget it. Shall we?"
"Right-o."
"That's the best way out of it."
"I suppose we might as well," grudged Phillips, the highest winner. "But gee! I thought I was rich!"
The Captain went into the house and tucked a little roll of bills behind the works of the sitting-room clock. Then he drove them to the little station, and chatted pleasantly with them until the narrow-gage train came in. They shook hands.
"Oh—here!" said the Captain jerkily. "I won't be too hard on ye—have a cigar!"
"No, thank you," they chorused. "We've sworn off!"